


The Colour of Flames

by nonsensicalbelle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Arson, F/M, Firefighter!Bucky, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, TOO MUCH, Teacher!Steve, Violence, a lot of pining, oblivious boys, some sexual harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 96,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4393772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensicalbelle/pseuds/nonsensicalbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky have been friends since they were seven years old. <br/>Steve is now a morally obligated Art History professor who would do anything for his best friend and covers himself in dried paint and report cards and library books to remain oblivious to his feelings.<br/>Bucky is a permanently exhausted firefighter who does normal things like drink beer with his best friend and zealously leap into flaming buildings to distract himself from the fact that he's in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Me Catch My Breath

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was originally inspired by a little thought that I had about Steve not having the money to buy Bucky a birthday present and grew until that little thought was basically the first couple of paragraphs of a heinous beast but that's okay. This is proving really fun to write and I'm hoping to update at least once a week.  
> This chapter I listened to a cover of Dancing in the Moonlight by Alt-J and Dazzle by Oh Wonder non-stop as I wrote.

Steve Rogers has this _thing_.

Since he was young he had always had to work for everything he wanted. He learnt far too early on that nothing in this world would be given to him freely. And whilst this did him some good in that he embodied the change he wanted and gave his kindness and friendship freely, it hindered him in other ways. Being a 90-odd pound sack of bones with a penchant for moral obligation had proven difficult from day one. He had a list of health problems as long as his arm and got sick every year without fail. Also, his poor Mother had been called up on more than one occasion because he’d been fighting in school (although no one mentioned he’d been standing up for the little Maximoff twins who some older boys had cornered and started pushing around).

After his Mother had died things only seemed to get worse. He no longer had money for clothes or lunch and went hungry more often than not. His health problems worsened, not helped by his malnourishment and general lack of care. He had no friends in the orphanage or at school and got into fights almost every week.

It was on one particularly cold Tuesday in mid-January that Steve remembers his first real interaction with Bucky Barnes. For some reason the sadistic P.E teacher had made the class run laps on the field outside and refused to hear Steve’s requests that he might do something else. Running in the biting cold was enough for Steve’s overworked heart to give out as it was, but when he was tripped and his face slammed into unforgiving frosted turf his lungs seemed to constrict entirely. He can vaguely remember being kicked mercilessly before it ceased suddenly and between half blacking out and his asthma attack he was hauled to his feet and practically carried away from the field. The boy who handed him his inhaler hurriedly was covered in scratches and bruises, wearing a torn shirt and a worried expression. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. The two have been since inseparable.

It was only when Steve made his first real friend that he learned what real friendship was about. Laughing until your face hurts, doing reckless things for fun, makeshift tents in back gardens, being angry just to be supportive, dumb inside jokes, having someone’s back and knowing they have yours. He loved it. He loved Bucky’s friendship. But that was when Steve Rogers learnt about his _thing_. His _issue_ with friends.

Steve would do anything for Bucky but the reality was he _couldn’t_ do anything for him. As they grew up their differences became apparent and although it didn’t reduce their friendship, certain discrepancies between their lives made Steve uncomfortable. Every year on Steve’s birthday Bucky would buy Steve something amazing; a remote control car, a BMX, beautiful personalised stationery, entire collective works of his favourite Renaissance literature and art, Giorgio Vasari and Alberti. However, every year Steve would have to reject the gifts, pained to see the disparaged look he got from Bucky each time.

Each time he saw Bucky approach him, all excitement and twitching hands as he gave him the hand-picked present Steve felt sick to his stomach. He could barely afford to keep himself fed let alone buy Bucky a gift from his wildest imagination. The thought of accepting gifts year after year but giving nothing in return made him feel weak and tragic and useless and worst of all a bad friend to the only friend he had. And stubborn little punk that Steve is, (Bucky’s words, not his) he stuck to his guns and never accepted, saying thank you but no thank you year upon year.

Bucky was a saint to put up with his complex and was overly considerate of Steve’s embarrassment, asking his Mum to just let him invite Steve for tea on his birthday and not throw a party, hiding his presents and never gloating about them like most kids did. He was always mindful of Steve’s feelings and it made Steve’s heart swell with love for his best friend but it was always followed with a hollow guilty pang in the pit of his stomach that reminded him Bucky could be having a normal birthday and Steve was ruining it. Steve was ruining Bucky.

In fact, it was difficult to understand why Bucky stuck around, why he put so much effort into being his friend. Steve got him in trouble with his extended family who saw Steve as a bad influence, he got him in trouble at school, he had him stuck inside all winter because Steve was always sick, he got him saddled with Steve’s ‘loser’ title to the other kids because they hung around together. Bucky could have easily got other friends, he was good looking, normal-sized, athletic and dangerously charming from the start but he never turned his back on Steve.

And every refused birthday gift was taken back with a forced smile and a strained, “Good because I really wanted this anyway, thanks, buddy,” or a nonchalant, “Well they’ll be in my room, I’m okay to share them if you want,” or, worst of all, “Right, sorry, stupid idea.” And Bucky would be lost to Steve for a few moments of joint misunderstanding before it was all shoved under the rug and they pretended it didn’t happen.

Each year Steve would do something for Bucky, an unspoken gift of an act or a chore or job that would help Bucky in some small way and relieve some of Steve’s guilt for being an inadequate friend. At first it was just cleaning his whole room on Bucky’s eighth birthday, an enormous task for Steve as Bucky has never been a tidy person. It took two hours, a lifetime for an eight year old but Bucky’s wide eyes and bright grin were worth it, so was the rib-crushing hug he was gifted with in return and Mrs Barnes warm smile and chocolate-chip cookie.

Steve never explicitly says what he does are birthday presents because something in him cringes at the idea that he replaces actual gifts with mundane chores when Bucky deserves something truly special but they are his only way of giving a present. When they’re eleven Steve sneaks into the announcement office and yells over the school’s speakerphone that Brock Rumlow (Steve’s newest bully and Bucky’s nemesis) is a creep and wets the bed. Not only does that get him a pounding from Brock, a week’s worth of detentions and a stern talking to from Mrs Barnes but it gets him golden peals of laughter from Bucky and hugs and high fives for weeks and he feels like a hero.

When they’re thirteen Steve finds an old bike in the Barnes’ garage and spends two weeks secretly fixing it up with heavy tools and vibrant coloured paint, making it look like the model Bucky stares at through the shop window they pass on the way to school. That year Bucky yells and crows and jumps up and down, grabbing Steve and forcing him to join in for longer than necessary. He shows Steve every stunt he knows and offers every two seconds for him to have a go, grinning constantly and intermittently resting his hand on Steve’s shoulder as another way of thanking him as he takes a drink between stunts and Steve thinks he’s never been as happy.

When they’re seventeen Steve gets the number of the untouchable Natasha Romanov (who ends up just being a good friend to them both) for Bucky and his jaw goes slack and he stutters a few “How did...” and “...wants me?” and Steve finds his heart doesn’t jump like he was expecting but expands, slowly and painfully as he watches the excitement in his best friend’s ocean eyes. With Bucky’s hair growing out, just long enough to put it into a small bun and his shoulders having filled out, making him look like a young man and not a boy, with his smile that makes his eyes crinkle, with his kindness and brilliance, Steve wonders how Bucky could doubt that anyone would want him.

And Steve’s desire to keep Bucky’s smile returning to him makes him work hard at everything and his work ethic is unlike anything his teachers had come across before, he studied hard to get a good job, make Bucky proud. He’s smart, Bucky’s always told him that, but he only really believes it when he gets into college to study Art History. When he gets the letter he opens it with Bucky, stammering on the words and choking on the word ‘accept’ which hits home harder than he thought. Bucky tackles him onto the cramped double in his room yelling and laughing and Steve can barely breathe for the cocktail of emotions he’s drowning in along with the unsettling warmth that comes with Bucky’s arms around him.

For Steve’s birthday that year it is tense at first. Not only is the impending separation looming over the two of them but Steve feels overwhelmingly indebted to Bucky and his family again who he discovered they had been saving a college fund for him since his childhood friendship began with Bucky. Though he had got a scholarship which paid for most of his fees, the rest were completely covered. He had cried into Mrs Barnes shoulder for a good half an hour as she shushed him and reassured him that his parents would be proud of him. Steve didn’t meet Bucky’s eyes for a day. Despite his gratitude he couldn’t help but see the gap of kindness in all the things they had done for him. It stung to feel so inadequate.

However, Bucky didn’t try and buy Steve anything for once, to his relief. Instead he had dragged him to his Mum’s old car at the crack of dawn and driven them to Coney Island where they had wasted the day on rides and snacks and taking dumb polaroids with two dollar cameras from the pharmacy. Then Bucky had driven them to a bar they’d been to before where they played some eclectic live music, all in accordance with Steve’s taste and he doesn’t know how Bucky pulled it off but knows Bucky well enough to know he can achieve anything with a smile.

College was hard.

It was wonderful, too. He got to meet Sam who was his roommate and went on to be his flatmate as the two got so close. Sam Wilson studied psychology and had a friendly demeanour and a non-judgemental attitude that made it nigh-impossible to dislike him and his quick wit and rowdy humour had drawn Steve in easily. Peggy Carter studied on the same course as Steve and had decided on the first week of lectures, when she’d caught sight of Steve’s sketches and diagrams next to his notes of renaissance subject posture, that he was interesting and had sat next to him ever since. She was an English crack-wit with intelligence to rival anyone Steve had ever known, it felt as if she only attended the lectures to nod and check off her theories as correct. Steve had witnessed her put on perfect eyeliner on the subway and beat up three drunk guys who had mistakenly harassed them one night without so much as a smudge to her lipstick.

But college was hard.

Leaving Bucky Barnes and unavoidably lessening their communication as they both started new separate lives was without a doubt the most difficult thing Steve Rogers had ever had to do. His first Christmas at college alone since he was seven years old had been particularly awful. Luckily, Sam had found him crying into an old over-sized jumper and had been a saint, not questioning or prodding but inviting him to stay with his family over the holidays and never leaving him alone on a prominent holiday again. Peggy had offered her undying support also and the two desperately tried to get Steve to date, fixing him up countless times with truly nice people but Steve never really felt a connection. Also, the lifestyle he chose was unsuitable for a relationship as he worked on his studies all day and researched other styles and artists by night, leaving little time for the fundamentals of eating or sleeping let alone dating.

The three of them really became close when Peggy came to them with an exchange programme to study abroad for a year touring Europe. It was an incredible opportunity that allowed Sam to broaden his horizons and give him great credentials for being able to communicate with all different cultures, allowed Peggy to visit home briefly and she and Steve the rare chance to witness all the great works they admired in person, visit hundreds of galleries, it was a dream. It was in Europe Steve decided he wanted to teach and had explored styles of art, food, language, men and women. He’d shocked himself with the amount he’d grown.

After they graduated the three moved to Brooklyn, finding a sizeable apartment for the three of them preferable to three individual ones and far easier to pay for. It was both a relief and a blow for Steve to be back where he grew up but finding his feet was thankfully easier than he had anticipated, quickly getting a job as an Art History professor at the prestigious city centre Allitt Isles School and found he was a natural teacher and his students warmed to him with ease. Peggy and Sam are relentless in their immediate badgering for him to contact Bucky now they weren’t separated by hundreds of miles, Sam working as a school councillor at the same school making it easier for him to find moments in the day to pester Steve at work and home. Peggy, only proving her value of continuity, continued her track record of impressing and landed a job curating a classy, sophisticated gallery filled with classic-inspired modern pieces that sold for obscene amounts.

Truthfully Steve was beyond nervous to see Bucky for the first time in four years, worried that the time had changed his memories into glorified rose-tinted moments captured in faded polaroids that haunted his walls and notebooks still. What if he’d changed to be unrecognisable? What if Bucky was different and was done with their friendship? Four years was a long time. He could easily be confused as to why Steve would even contact him? It was rare that childhood friends even kept any contact, right?

About four months after he’d moved back to Brooklyn with Peggy and Sam, (yes four months and he hasn’t contacted Bucky he’s been busy okay), a chilly mid-November night Steve had worked far later than he was supposed to (good thing he had keys) and was walking to the subway when the bitter scent of copper and smoke caught his attention. It was difficult to tell from where he was standing across the street but he was sure there was black smoke billowing from a topmost window. Crossing the street to get a closer look, phone already in hand, his suspicions were confirmed and he dialled 911, reporting that there was a fire.

Standing on the sidewalk for more than two seconds whilst people slept oblivious to the danger surrounding them just wasn’t an option for him. He ignored the tinny voice that had told him from the end of the phone to ‘stay put and under no circumstances enter the building’. _It literally took you two seconds to ignore that instruction_ , a voice in the back of his head snarked, sounding suspiciously like Bucky.

Rushing inside he pulled the fire alarm and discovered it was broken and huffed angrily, making a mental note to check his own when he got home. Ignoring the nervous feeling upon getting in an elevator in a burning building (stairs were not an option without his inhaler), he made his way to the top floor and began methodically banging on every door yelling ‘fire!’ and ‘this isn’t a drill, get out of the building!’, clearing every apartment one by one to make sure no one was still inside. He saw the source of the fire in a kitchen in apartment 7J on the top floor and made sure the woman unconscious from smoke inhalation was taken to safety by two men before he went to the next floor down. The smoke polluting his lungs made his eyes water as he desperately tried not to bring on a coughing fit, reminding himself that smoke rises and the quicker he got everyone out, the quicker he’d get away from the smoke. The yelling was beginning to hurt his already strained throat and it was getting more difficult to see and breathe each second.

Going further down the smoky hallway to get to the next apartment he felt a strong pair of hands tug at his shoulders and a flurry of irritation rushed through him at the obstruction to getting others to safety. He fought the hands with a force that was unlike him and managed to slip through their grip, stumbling quickly before hurrying to the next door, banging his fists on 6E like his life depended on it. His ears were ringing by this point and his own voice was drowned out by thundering footsteps and the eerie crackling of a nearby devouring flame.

Forcing in any remnants of oxygen was now becoming nigh impossible and Steve grit his teeth, forcing himself not to crumble into himself and keep moving. For the second time a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, roughly this time and he didn’t have the energy to fight with any real gusto this time. He somewhat registered the feeling of hitting the ground as he vision blacked out but it didn’t hurt, it felt muffled, like it was make believe.

Steve came round with a choked gasp of desperate air and struggled to open his blotchy eyes and his vision was spotted and oddly coloured. His breathing was excruciating and he reached for something, anything to help and a paramedic pushed an oxygen mask over his face and tears streamed from Steve’s eyes as he gulped in air with abandon. He was in the back of an ambulance on the side of the road and slowly took in the scene of the apartment building in front of him, blackened and still smoky but, from the way people were milling about, the fire had been put out and Steve let his head flop back down on the stretcher behind him.

Bucky Barnes was a recently promoted fire fighter, no longer a junior fire fighter after four years on the force. He was a thick-skinned, hard working, reliable and intelligent member of the team and was on first response most nights of the week. After his last year in high school he’d moved in with Natasha Romanov –and Clint Barton simply by association due to the sheer amount of time he spent crashing there. Natasha’s somewhat sketchy job in what she described as ‘a hands on approach to personnel management’ kept her away for extended periods of time and though Clint popped in occasionally when she was away, more often than not it was Bucky’s apartment alone and he lived a life in monochrome.

He visited his Mother with his sister Becca every weekend for a home cooked meal and let them fuss over him for longer than he appreciated because he knew it made them feel better. He told anyone who’d listen of his best friend who’d gone off with a full ride (more or less) to college and was the smartest guy he knew. He worked out and trained five or six times a week to keep himself busy, more often than not in the middle of the night when he woke up sweat soaked and hoarse from screaming. He’d seen some horrible things in his line of work and some of it clung to him.

It was nights like this one that he had to keep a clear head. He was playing cards with Dum Dum and Howard in the break room when the alarm went off and Fury gave them instructions. Howard always drove the truck (insert hands on the wheel pun here) and got irritated with the mandated GPS installed in the truck, often getting into trouble for tampering with it to make it spout insults from popular comedic films or changing the language or pitch to keep things fresh. Bucky had actually been made team leader on this particular squad as he knew them so well and showed expert leadership skills, according to Fury. Their little team, the 107th, were better known among their circuit as ‘the Howling Commados’ (which Bucky had always thought was a little pretentious but also kind of cool), was made up of Dum Dum Dugan, Izzy Cohen, Gabriel Jones, Jim Morita,  Howard Stark, Monty Falsworth, Jacques Dernier and him. They were infamous for their efficiency and track record for getting all civilians to safety, a record Bucky was happy to promote if it kept people safe.

Tonight there was a report of a fire in an apartment building in the inner city area which meant speed was essential so they could reach it before it could spread. Reaching the scene they found civilians littering the street staring up at the smoke clouds, not knowing what to do, some were crying, others were on their phone. People were pouring out of the doors in pyjamas and slippers and dressing gowns and Bucky eased just a little knowing that they were getting to safety. Double checking everyone’s gear, the men dove into the building, each taking a floor and moving everyone down towards the exits. It took fourteen minutes to get everyone out of the building, too long in Bucky’s opinion but they operated like clockwork and it was over very quickly.

Finally outside, having taken the top floor, Bucky was surprised to see some of his team yelling and gesturing wildly towards an ambulance and his stomach dropped. Something had happened. He did a headcount at the speed of light but all of them were accounted for. Did someone screw up? Was there a casualty? Spotting him, the other men stormed over and Dum Dum was the first to speak and louder than the others.

“Some fucking guy wouldn’t get out!” Dugan roared, looking exasperated and frazzled and was riding that same adrenaline high as they all were and did after a fire.

“I grabbed him and he knocks my oxygen and breaks my mask seal fucking struggling like I was going to kill him, ran off, was banging on doors and screaming like hell for people to get out, choking on all the smoke! So I go to get him again and have to drag him out, barely breathing, can’t see a damn thing. This asshat nearly gets us both killed and he’s sat in that ambulance and I’m not allowed to give him a piece of my fucking mind!” Dum Dum’s honest rage was rare but always well-deserved and Bucky felt himself get angry as well. What kind of idiot puts people at risk by trying to do a fire fighter’s job for them? By _fighting_ a fire fighter! Raising a hand, the stem of complaints and angry comments stopped and Bucky surged over to the ambulance, ignoring the paramedic who tried to dissuade him timidly.

“What the hell were you thinking, man? You got a deathwish or something?” Bucky snapped viciously at the man who was currently sat facing away from him and his posture instantly stiffened as he slowly turned around.

Bucky had been more than ready to rip this guy a new one, a little stress relief probably wouldn’t go amiss even if he would feel guilty about it later. However, when the man turned around, out of every possible scenario Bucky could have anticipated, this was not one of them.

The man staring back at him, oxygen mask in hand, blinked those pretty glazed blue eyes and frowned, like he was trying to understand something but hadn’t quite got there yet. Give him a minute. His eyes widened and Bucky felt his heart in his throat. There it is.

“Steve?” Bucky managed, choking over the word he never got to say and looking at the face he never got to see excepting the crappy polaroid pictures in his wallet. Seeing Steve’s face after four years of nearly no communication, because they’ve both never been good at that, was more than Bucky could handle and he just stood there dumbly, not feeling or caring the confused stares from his friends. Of course it was Steve. Who else would dive into a burning building as an unequipped, underweight asthmatic? Who else would fight someone twice his size just to help strangers get to safety? Who else could appear from nowhere and knock Bucky sideways?

 Steve looked as if he was going to move but then decided against it and pulled in an audibly stuttered breath and Bucky almost moved closer, feeling gravitated.

“Bucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestions or comments would be great!


	2. Blue's Pretty Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is embarrassed. Bucky is confused. They are absolutely not even hardly really at all thinking about each other. Everyone is undoubtedly going to stick their noses into things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit difficult for me to get out because I've been pretty busy getting ready for uni so I'm sorry it's a day late! This chapter was to explain initial feelings and fears because I wanted to explore that. Next chapter should be another chance meeting and more characters should be introduced and meddling and I'm excited. I listened to a lot of Milo Greene and of Monsters and Men and Gabrielle Aplin to inspire this chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

“I want to die.”

“Steve, it can’t have been that bad, come on,” Sam’s usually soothing voice did nothing to calm Steve who had rushed in all of four minutes ago and had immediately buried himself under the blankets in his bed. Sam had been trying to coax his troubles from him since then.

“It was awful! I’m so embarrassed,” Steve’s muffled voice whined and Sam let out a kind laugh.

“Tell me what happened, man,” He prodded gently and Steve’s head slowly appeared from under the blankets, gauging Sam for any teasing but just found his usual no-judgement self.

“I saw him.” Steve winced as he said the words, awaiting the onslaught Sam would no doubt deliver asking for every possible detail and-

“Who?”

“Bucky! I saw Bucky! God, it was so humiliating!” Steve couldn’t bear to think about it, unfortunately Bucky was not the sort of person to be easily forgotten. Not to Steve anyway.

“But I thought that would be a good thing, you’ve been putting off seeing him for months and you finally went, good on you, man!” Sam tried and Steve flopped back into the bed sheets with a dramatic moan.

“I didn’t go and see him, it was an accident. Or I never meant- I wouldn’t have-” His incoherent babbling was apparently not good enough for Sam who folded his arms from where he was sat, borderline no-nonsense and Steve could sense it.

“Steve, what did you do?” Steve didn’t reply, just hid his face in his hands with a moan, trying to get the burning chagrin to leave his face.

“Right, that’s it, I’m getting Peggy,” Sam threatened and Steve sat bolt upright.

“No don’t get-”

“Peggy!” The tapping of feet approaching the door meant Steve was assigned his fate. Sam _or_ Peggy he could handle, but the two of them together were a tag team he couldn’t ignore. A few minutes of stalling later and Steve caved, knowing he needed to tell them anyway before he exploded.

When he told them about the fire and his involvement, he got simultaneous exclamations and he had the decency to at least look a little guilty. He went on to tell them about fighting the firefighter and waking up in an ambulance and then at last turning and seeing a very angry Bucky Barnes who looked as if Steve was the very last person on Earth he wanted to see.

“Yes, but what did he say!” Peggy pushed, not quite so patient as Sam.

/////

“Steve?”

“Bucky?” Steve could hardly believe he’d managed to form any words at all and silently applauded himself. The applause died when he saw the look on Bucky’s face, a mix of surprise, confusion and something that can only be described as wrong. The silence between them went on for more than a little too long and Steve didn’t know what the etiquette was here, what he was supposed to say. What was standard procedure small talk for seeing your best friend after four years in the back of an ambulance after you may or may not have put people at risk as well as yourself doing something he was positive Peggy would describe as ‘indisputably idiotic’?

“How-” Steve tried but Bucky seemed to snap out of his horrified trance at the same moment.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky sounds panicked and his tone is defensive and it sets Steve’s teeth on edge.

“What are you doing here?” Steve retorts instantly and Bucky looks at him like he’s gone insane.

“Steve, I’m a firefighter.” (The charred building behind him punctuating his point.) And right there is when Steve decides he would very much like the ground to swallow him up whole thank you.

“Well, right, yeah,” Steve physically feels his embarrassment physically manifest and cover him like a blanket of ‘ _what the hell am I doing’_. His continued silence seemed to spark some infuriation within Bucky whose facial expressions were morphing and colliding at an impressive speed and Steve seemed like the only one of them to acknowledge the group of firefighters standing like a mob around the ambulance, staring quite openly in fact, watching the exchange keenly.

“You ran into a building that was on fire,” Bucky pressed and Steve couldn’t decide if it was a question or a statement and just nodded, prompting an odd noise from Bucky who looked like he wanted to be sick.

“I wanted to help,” Steve said to Bucky and the other encroaching firefighters.

When Steve had pictured seeing Bucky again after all this time he had never imagined it going quite like this. He thought he’d plan it all out; a casual run-in and they’d catch up over coffee or lunch. Maybe they’d go out for a beer and talk about everything and pick up where they left off with their friendship. He hadn’t anticipated an oxygen mask or a sea of angry men or that look on Bucky’s face and the old, familiar sting of inadequacy came rushing back far too quickly.

“I wanted to help,” Steve repeated.

“I hope you’ve been well,” He added weakly, desperate to steer this into something else, desperate just to get to Bucky in all of this.

“You put a lot of people at risk, Steve, including yourself! And, uh, yeah I’ve been good, I guess,” Bucky added the last as an afterthought and it was like two conversations at once merging and neither were going very well.

“I’m really sorry.”

The discomfort of the other firefighters was becoming tangible now as their eyes flickered from Steve to Bucky and they started to back off, sensing something more was going on than they knew of. Bucky’s jaw twitched as he studied Steve and he tried hard not to squirm under the scrutiny and ignore the warmth that threatened to come with it. God, he’d missed him.

“Are you okay, though?” Bucky asked, moving closer, his hands twitching like he wanted to do something and Steve remembered how he probably looked. Weak and smoke-stained, cuts and bruises littering his body and just generally a nice, good-old fashioned mess. Yes. Definitely not how he imagined this reunion taking place. He cleared his throat and tried for a smile but he was feeling increasingly dizzy from the smoke and Bucky’s gaze.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Buck,” He tried the old nickname on his tongue and missed how it affected the other man who blanched.

“But I should probably get going, actually,” Steve, entirely ready to flee, lifted his arm to go and look at his watch, which of course he wasn’t wearing and he swore very loudly in his mind. Something akin to fondness did briefly appear in Bucky’s gaze before his brow furrowed and he grabbed a paramedic and tugged them over as he spoke.

“Nah, Steve you need to get fixed up, you’re all,” He gestured to Steve’s entire body and Steve laughed and coughed, rolling his eyes at the accuracy of that statement.

“Bucky, I’m fine, really,” He tried to move but Bucky had a hand sternly on the paramedic’s shoulder and was shaking his head, blocking Steve’s path.

“He should get checked over, right?” He was addressing the paramedic but his eyes never left Steve and it was difficult not to get lost in them.

“Sir, you do actually have a serious burn and some abrasions and possibly a concussion, I would strongly advise getting checked at a hospital,” Steve stared at the traitorous paramedic who shrunk inwards.

“If it was life or death you would’ve taken me to the hospital already, I’m fine,” Steve snapped a little harshly and started to get up but this was all sorts of not okay for Bucky apparently who looked like this was the worst possible action to be taken. However, before he could act his name was being called.

“Barnes! Get over here!” A gruff voice, seeping with authority rang over and Bucky visibly straightened, professional mode kicking in. Steve tried to use this distraction to get away, quite happy to make a break for it and just happened to forget there’s a gap between ambulances and the ground. On instinct, Bucky’s arms shot out to steady his falling friend, his excuse being that he was a firefighter; his job was scooping people up, pretty much, yeah, shut up.

Squinting up at his former best friend who had his arms quite firmly around him and that concerned expression was back. Memories of football team tryouts and school bullies and rejections from crushes, all Steve’s bad memories carried with them Bucky’s concern-face and it was almost too much to bear. Kicked into gear by a new bout of embarrassment he took one shaky but solid step out of Bucky’s radius and steadied himself on the door of the ambulance.

/////

“Wait, so you literally fell for him?” Sam snorted loudly, unable to help himself and Steve threw the nearest cushion at him.

“That’s hilarious, Sam. Thank God you’re on hand in a crisis!”

“Steve, don’t you think you’re overreacting ever so slightly?” Peggy cut in, a knowing smirk on her lips.

“There’s literally no way that meeting could have gone worse!” Steve moaned and Sam and Peggy shared an eye roll at the classic Rogers dramatics.

“I don’t know, man. What if you hadn’t gotten out of that burning building? Deep fried Rogers probably wouldn’t have gone down too great,” Sam laughed playfully and Steve couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips and Peggy’s musical laugh lightened his mood considerably.

“So are you going to see him again?” Peggy said conspiratorially and Sam snorted again.

“Ha ha. No. I would die of embarrassment at this point.”

“Yeah, but he knows you’re back now, probably going to run into each other at some point,” Sam pointed out and Steve groaned at the thought of having to face Bucky again.

“Why did I have to act like such a moron? Why couldn’t I just run into him casually like a normal person?”

“Because normal people don’t run into burning buildings, Steve!” Peggy stared him down and he avoided eye contact pointedly.

“Actually you might be two peas in a bloody pod,” She muttered absently as she got to her feet.

“He looked good, like he’s doing well for himself,” Steve smiled at his friends at the thought, if anything, the thought of Bucky doing well was enough to placate him. Sam smiled at him sympathetically and Peggy sighed, exasperated at her clueless friend, leaned over to kiss his cheek and bid the two good night.

“What am I gonna’ do, Sam?”

“Why is this bothering you so much, man? You act like an idiot around me 24/7 and there’s no love lost there. This guy was your best friend, right?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Then he’s not gonna’ care, if he knows you he knows what you’re like,” Sam pushed on, raising an eyebrow at his friend who looked conflicted.

“I guess I never thought we’d see each other again like that.” Steve raked a hand through his soot stained hair as he replayed Bucky’s look of, well, whatever he was feeling, most likely horror. Sensing that he wasn’t going to get a reply, Sam slapped Steve’s knee and got up to leave Steve’s room.

“You should grab a shower,” Sam added before closing the door behind him.

Alone again, Steve thought about when he might next see Bucky. It probably wouldn’t be for ages but he couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky was eager to see him. It would’ve been great to catch up properly, over the space of the four years he was away they only shared a handful of phone calls and a few chance letters from Europe. The more he thought on it the more Steve convinced himself that Bucky had more than likely completely moved on with his life, putting his time with Steve in with childhood memories and carrying on, creating a new life without any room for him in it. Their meeting was probably already fading from Bucky’s mind, maybe he’d forget about it by next week. The thought was both relieving and heartbreaking.

So Steve, like the responsible, emotionally mature adult he was, shoved down his feelings to deal with at another point. He was well-versed in the act of shelving his feelings for one Bucky Barnes, in fact he probably had an entire room full but the man just meant more to Steve than anyone else because he was the first person to take the time to move in to his life.

When Steve accepted someone in his life he did it whole-heartedly and he knew it was a lot, he knew he was a lot and it freaked most people out. People wondered what his angle was, thought he wasn’t genuine because it was rare that you find someone so open and kind, that’s what Peggy told him at least. As much as he appreciated her efforts, he knew the truth. He was overbearing and overwhelming. Bucky was the first person he learned to really bond with so it was only natural that he hold onto those feelings even after Bucky had let them go.

He just wished it wasn’t just him.

And if he thought of blue eyes and warm laughter in the shower that didn’t mean anything. And if he dreamt of pulled back brown hair and leather jackets that didn’t mean anything.

/////

Bucky Barnes did not get flustered. Let’s make that clear first of all. It took a hell of a lot to even get him to look twice at anything. He never lost focus and he lived his entire life on the ball, that’s just what his job demanded of him. So for him to be rattled, mishearing people, second guessing himself and not 100% present in the moment he was in was just not heard of.

Fury had chalked it up to being tired after an intense fire and told him to take a few days off, again, unheard of. He had texts from all of the guys as he made his way to his apartment.

11:06 – Dum Dum

_Wouldn’t have went off on one if I knew you knew the guy, sorry if I caused an issue buddy._

Bucky wiped his eyes as he walked, his bones aching from his heavy gear and being so tense for so long. He looked forward to the burning heat of his shower.

11:09 – Falsworth

_Care to explain what that was all about?_

Breathing out a foggy breath and rubbing his hands together to preserve heat, thoughts of inhalers and worn out shoes and ‘yes ma’am’ permeated through Bucky’s mind. He thought about sharing apples and bonfires and hide and seek and grazed knees and secret handshakes and looking up he realised he’d walked down the wrong street. He growled at his own reaction to seeing Steve again A.K.A apparently losing his shit, turning back to where he needed to go.

11:14 – Howard

_I got a picture of you and mystery cute little guy_

11:14 –Howard

_Just when you dipped him like in the movies_

11:15 – Howard

_I wish someone scooped me up like that (heart-eyes emoji)_

11:16 – From Bucky To Howard

_shut up_

11:17 – Howard

_(picture attached)_

Staring at the screen and seeing his own shocked expression looking down at Steve who looked downright dizzy, Bucky realised how much he’d honestly missed just having Steve around him. He’d never said a bad word about his friend leaving, always bragging and telling everyone about his buddy Steve who was going on to great things.

He’d never thought about what would happen when he came back and Steve had just become this idealised memory that almost didn’t feel real. But looking into his glazed eyes and listening to his wheezing breaths and catching his barely there smile, Steve was so real it hurt. And so were all those old feelings and held in words and quashed desires and how quickly it came flooding back was fairly alarming to him, was that supposed to happen? Didn’t feelings like that fade after four years? He wasn’t exactly sure what Steve meant to him, he just knew it was a hell of a lot and that apparently it hadn’t weakened in the slightest.

Suddenly aware that he’d been standing in the middle of the pavement next to his apartment building for a few minutes now, he shoved his phone in his pocket and jogged up the stairs to his apartment. Unlocking the door he absently wondered if Nat might be back tonight, that thought lasted all of four seconds.

“James Barnes, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Turning around he was confronted with Nat’s phone being shoved in his face and the picture Howard had sent him of him and Steve staring back at him.

“Uh,” Was his eloquent response.

“When did Steven Rogers get his cute little butt back in town? And how did this magic happen?” Natasha gestured to the phone.

“Nat, he showed up at the fire. Fought Dum Dum because he tried to stop him getting other people out, would you believe it,”

“I would,” Nat replied instantly and Bucky smirked, having almost forgot that Nat knew Steve almost as well as him, having spent their last few years of high school together.

“And what, he just happened to fall into your arms? Details, Barnes.” Nat seated herself on the counter, her favourite spot, and raised a perfect eyebrow at her roommate.

“He slipped, Nat. The whole thing was weird.” Bucky found himself skirting around what really happened, not wanting to admit the truth that the entire scene had knocked him sideways.

“So what’d he say?” She pushed and Bucky stuck his head in the fridge, looking for anything to eat and finding all of his food and beer gone and sighed.

“Clint here?” He asked and a non-committal grunt came from the living room where Clint was no doubt crashing on the sofa and Nat smirked in a way that said she found this ongoing situation extremely amusing.

“Just when I was starting to miss our resident squatter,” Bucky drawled and rolled his eyes at a noise that sounded suspiciously like a kiss being blown came from the living room.

“James,” Nat brought his attention back to her, a ghost of a smile still present but her eyes were searching him for anything extra, anything he was holding back and it grated him.

“I’m fine. It’s just weird. Kind of hoped the first time I saw him again wouldn’t be in an ambulance but, well, it’s Steve,” And that really was a fair explanation, the guy just couldn’t stay out of trouble for two minutes. A little voice nagged that he’d done just fine without Bucky for four years and he pointedly shoved it down, his mood worsening just a fraction but enough for Nat to pick up on somehow.

“You know it’s not-”

“I know,” He threw up his go-to ‘I’m fine just tired’ smile more for his own ease than anything and Nat didn’t push it.

“You should go and see him,” She said after a minute and Bucky raised an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t know where he’s living, plus it’d be pretty weird to show up unannounced like hey, sorry but I haven’t seen you in four years and that six minutes wasn’t enough, it wasn’t,” Bucky caught himself before he went any further and bit his lip, not needing to look up to know Nat’s sympathetic gaze was there. He was too tired. This was too much for right now.

“I’m going to shower.”

Nat nodded.

“Tell that scrounger if he touches my ice cream he’s out on the street.” Bucky added, a threatening finger mockingly pointed at the criminal on their sofa.

“Wait, you guys have ice cream?” Clint called.

Bucky’s teeth grinding and eye roll were audible as he walked to his room. His shower was scalding and he concentrated on getting himself clean, not letting his thoughts stray.

He deliberately pushed thoughts of blue eyes and soft hair and stubbornness to the back of his mind but fell asleep with thoughts of a half smile in the back of an ambulance slipping into his dreams.

Nothing was anywhere near what it was before Steve left. Except Bucky. He was still here. He’d always still been here. Like a piece of junk in a lost and found box that no one wanted. Except Steve saw him as a piece of gold that he didn’t deserve to touch and it had kept the two apart for longer than either had wanted.

Bucky had always thought that Steve would come back and the universe would give them a little shove as a sure sign that they should get a move on. For some reason he didn’t see a fall from an ambulance as a shove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this was enjoyable to read. This is going to be a slow build but I'm going to have some pining and cheeky meddling. I wanted to write some of the firefighter team and Nat and Clint and Peggy and Sam to introduce them properly! Kudos and reviews make me smile ever so much! I really hope you enjoyed reading this! Belle.


	3. Are We All Paying Attention?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony calls in a favour to get Bucky to give a fire safety talk for all the staff and Steve panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry this was late, I get my A Level results on Thursday and have been moving rooms so things have been chaotic! To make up for it, in this chapter I mention Steve and Bucky listening to morning playlists and I've made these playlists if you wanted to listen to them and get a feel for how they do mornings!  
> ***  
> Steve playlist - http://8tracks.com/erasabelle/good-morning-steve  
> Bucky's playlist - http://8tracks.com/erasabelle/wake-up-bucky  
> ***  
> Anyway we start to see the plot beginning here, it's going to flesh out but I wonder if anyone can guess what's going to happen! I have a feeling this fic will be fairly long. Kudos are amazing thank you so much for everyone already who's left kudos! Also to anyone who comments you are darlings and I love you it's so helpful and makes me want to write so much more! I hope you enjoy this anyway :)

_To do list:_

-          _get milk + coffee_

-          _buy more art stuff_

-          _library run_

-          _plan next week’s lectures_

-          _reunite with life long friend **_

Steve’s eye roll was possibly a new sass record as he saw Sam’s addition to his to do list. It had been just over a week since the fire and Peggy and Sam didn’t seem to be letting up on their attempts to bully Steve into going to see Bucky. Though Peggy was more subtle in her hints (a red kiss mark was next to Sam’s handwriting signalling her approval), Sam ‘little shit’ Wilson (self-proclaimed) was slightly more abrasive in his attempts, leaving notes around the house, slipping the name Bucky into conversation whenever possible, even once writing in huge letters on his blackboard at work ‘Steve 4 Bucky’ surrounded by a heart.

Needless to say, it was beginning to really grate at Steve who would happily continue living in denial if it weren’t for these constant interruptions. Also, he was 100% blaming Sam for Tony Potts (the school’s resident mad scientist, sorry science teacher) finding out about the Bucky incident and setting the fire alarm off as often as possible to try and get the fire service to come to the school just to catch a glimpse of Bucky.

Today though, today was going to be a good day. Steve felt good. His hair had fallen just how he liked it, not too fluffy but not flat and accented his whole look nicely. He was wearing smart trousers and a nice shirt that almost made him look normal sized, plaid with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows so you could just glimpse the tattoo of a trail of stars that climbed up his forearm and cute brown shoes. It had taken him a while to get the professor look down but days like today made him feel more confident in himself. Having got up extra early he read a particularly interesting article on the merits of renaissance artists self portraits and artistic self-reflection. Steve allowed himself the luxury of getting lost in the analysis of Michelangelo’s shading with toast and the last of the coffee.

Today was a Tuesday, meaning Sam had gone early to the gym and then would go straight to work so Steve had the morning to himself, which was nice from time to time. Making sure he had everything he needed in his bag and with one more tentative touch of his hair in the mirror Steve left his apartment with a call over his shoulder of goodbye to Peggy who was no doubt still asleep. Plugging his earphones in, Steve let out a sigh of relief as his morning playlist acted as a breath of fresh air with light, easy music and before he’d even inhaled a fresh smile bloomed on his face.  Today was going to be a good day.  

/////

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed as he clutched the foot he just hit on the door. Half-hopping he made his way to the kitchen where he gratefully chugged the scalding coffee Nat offered him, not looking up from her phone.

He rushed back into his room, grabbing a crumpled shirt off of the floor and tried his best to straighten it with his hands - his grubby hands, he noted, and went to go and have a shower at the speed of light. Just as he reached the bathroom door Clint cut in front of him with a pained smile.

“I just need to pee; I’ll be like two seconds,”

Bucky sighed in exasperation but waved him in and Clint clapped him on the back gratefully. Huffing and puffing, half dressed with a towel slung over his shoulder, Bucky’s eyes narrowed when he heard the familiar and inviting sounds of the spray of their shower. Then Clint started singing.

“Son of a bitch,” He kicked the door harshly and then span around, pulling on the grubby, soot-stained shirt and throwing the towel angrily onto his bed.

“Nat, keep your pets under control,”

“Roger that.” Nat’s voice held more than a little amusement and that only served to piss Bucky off more. Oh, and he didn’t miss that clever double entendre either, bravo Romanov, now Rogers was on his mind too. Fantastic. Because he wasn’t already distracted enough.

The apartment building fire over a week ago had everyone on edge. At first it seemed like an ordinary kitchen fire but on closer inspection there was traces of lighter fluid found and even some explosives further afield in the apartment but luckily the 107th had got there in time to diffuse the situation. Also, turns out Morita’s Grandma lived in the building and got a little hurt so everyone was tiptoeing around him and let him give lectures on extra safety precautions and not messing around because he was clearly freaked out. Dernier said that she was his only family so everyone cut him some slack and gave him a pat on the back for keeping his cool during the job.

Bucky dreaded to think what he’d do should Nat or Clint ever get caught in a fire, though he thought they were capable of taking care of themselves, or rather, Nat take care of both of them, he would still drive himself mad with worry. A little voice nagged at him and he knew who he’d really go crazy about if they were in danger. But that was the stupid thing. Steve was always in danger simply due to his stature and moral compass. And now he was back and invading every other thought that he had and he was going just a little bit crazy all on his own.

Another thing found at the scene of the fire was a token strapped to some of the explosives which featured some kind of symbol of a skull with what looked like octopus legs around it. This token, Bucky had managed to find out, was not affiliated to any major or minor explosives producers or any company anyone could find. They’d all been told the same, that it was no big deal, just some kook making his own stuff and that there was nothing to worry about. But Bucky just couldn’t quite believe it was that simple or unfamiliar and had stayed up until the early hours of the morning trying to research and find anything remotely useful, his handy paranoia teaming up and making a budding friendship with his insomnia, a match made in heaven.

Having found nothing useful whatsoever, losing practically all sleep, not eating, and now not even getting a shower, he was in a positively foul mood. Fury had called letting him know he was due at a fire safety check at a local college or school, Alley Isles or something that kept having their alarms go off and he was running late already. He fumbled with his phone as he put on his regulation fire department hoodie, at least give some semblance or professionalism if he was going to arrive twenty minutes late, and he managed to get to his favourite morning playlist in seconds, which made him focus and wake up considerably quicker and more agreeably than car horns and Clint’s singing.

Walking became easier to a beat and his lips weren’t so numb as they mouthed lyrics unconsciously. He tried to push all thoughts of the disturbing token and Steve and his dirty trousers out of his head and focus entirely on the pulsing facets of music in his ears, losing himself to their whims. Izzy texted him the address of the school and he knew the place, just a block away from one of his favourite Chinese restaurants.

Bucky’s bad morning got fractionally better knowing he’d get a whole subway journey to switch off from his immediate surroundings and coast for a while until he woke up properly, it was cathartic to him. People-watching was a nice past time of Bucky’s. After Steve had left, Bucky had realised he had rather neglected really learning about anyone else in the same level of depth and the differences were glaringly obvious when he knew what a twitch of Steve’s fingers meant but not that Clint was allergic to mushrooms (something he learnt the hard way). He began seeing people with a forced fascination until it became real. The subway became a time of observation where he absorbed facial tics and fidgets and crooked smiles and clung to his waning self control and not compare anyone to Steve, a habit he’d honestly worked to nip in the bud.

Getting off the subway having fully enjoyed seeing a man speak rapidly in French on the phone and a little girl try and fail to braid her hair, Bucky felt ready to take on interaction. Rubbing his eyes and scraping his heels in time to a particularly nice chord he slammed into someone and stumbled back a little before looking to see who he’d collided with. The man was middle-aged, greying but carrying it well and with a sharp suit and a stern, expensive expression, Bucky instantly felt out of his depth with his messy bun and grey hoodie.

“Sorry, excuse me, you alright?” He asked sheepishly. The man nodded like Bucky had just confirmed his suspicions and the look seemed to send something cold to his fingertips as a new song began playing in his ear and the lively beat was a stark contradiction to the stony stare of the stranger.

“Alright,” Bucky chewed his lip and slowly turned away, feeling idiotic and wanting to get away from cheerful-suit-dude as rapidly as possible. Two more minutes and he was at the reception of the Allitt Isles school and it looked far too classy for a guy like him to hang around in but he was here to do a job. The receptionist told him to wait for a Mr Potts to come and collect him to show him to the labs first and then he’d go on to do a small talk on emergency evacuation protocols for inner city buildings. It was the less exhilarating side to his job but it was just as important if it prevented people from getting killed.

/////

Steve already had coloured chalk stains on his fingertips and graphite smudges on the side of his face as he’d allowed a more practical approach to line study in his class today and the kids had loved it. And time he gave them the opportunity to try out a technique they seemed to jump at it, he figured most of them were taking art classes as well and liked a hands on class every once in a while.

With his first class over he had a free period before his next and made his way to the staff room where they were supposed to be having a fire evac talk (thanks Tony) before he could get on with marking and planning (and maybe sketching but no one needed to know that).

He walked down the bustling corridor to the staffroom and let his fingers trace on the wall for a second before he remembered the chalk and rubbed his hands on his trousers, wincing a little at the pastel spectrum he now sported on his thighs. Sitting himself down in one of the chairs circled in the staffroom next to Sam who was marking an essay on his lap, Steve fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he thought about what aspects of realism would be most interesting to start with from this renaissance module. Just then Tony hustled in, slumping down on the chair to his left with an apologetic look on his face, one which Steve had learned was nearly as dangerous as his triumphant face.

“What?” Steve queried, ready to recoil on impulse.

“So after finally getting this safety talk to happen the guy isn’t even your gorgeous ‘Bucky’,” Tony looked irritated, like someone wasn’t joining in his game and he thought it was extremely bad form.

“I- I never said he was gorgeous,” Steve spluttered and Tony’s eyebrows said all he needed to know.

“I even specifically asked for Barnes, you know, super profesh’, they must have more than one though which is incredibly annoying, but don’t worry I’ve got a devilishly brilliant plan which I personally think is one of my best but hey, hold the applause until the end please,” Sam snorted absently as he marked, quite acclimatised to Tony’s chatter.

“I’m sorry, what, what? You asked for Barnes? As in, you rang up the fire department and made a request! It’s not a fucking radio station, Tony,” Steve felt a little hysterical at the thought of Bucky walking in the door to his place of work and his voice raising an octave probably gave this away.

“Hey, they provide a service, why not? Besides the guy I spoke to on the phone, Howard, I swear, the guy’s like my kindred spirit, we talked about what a bitch corrosives are before I even remembered to ask for your guy, but now I have an in! This is good news!” Tony seemed to brighten at his own explanation but Steve was getting no comfort from anything he was saying and felt further clarification was needed before he lost his mind. Sam was still pointedly staying out of the conversation but his smug smirk made Steve bristle at his so-called friend.

“And you’re sure it’s not Bucky? I mean Barnes, it’s, how can you be sure? Are you sure?” Steve scrambled and at last Sam looked up, deeming this amusing enough to be worth his time. Tony leaned in further, delighted to have gossip to impart. All three missed the staffroom door opening and people beginning to hush.

“I asked him, before you freak out, I was super subtle, he asked me if I was Mr Potts, so I said yeah call me Tony,” Tony smiled wider, leaving a dramatic pause as if anticipating the exclamations of his own brilliance and Steve made a noise of frazzled desperation, fearing the worst and Sam made a gesture to continue and all three ignored the head teacher making a short introductory speech for their guest speaker.

“So of course he shakes my hands and is like, oh, I’m--”

“James Barnes from the 107th fire department, just here to give some safety reminders and make sure you all know your emergency protocols.”

Steve’s throat constricted in time to Sam’s pen falling on the floor and he tracked it with his eyes, not daring to look up. Unfortunately, Tony.

“Hey, that’s him.” Tony chirped, no doubt louder than he intended as the staff turned in their direction and the head teacher shot a dark look his way to which Tony grinned in response. Steve was handily placed behind physics teacher Dr Banner and risked peeking round his head and his heart did some daring acrobatic movements upon seeing messy haired Bucky, clad in slim-fit dark trousers and a flattering grey hoodie with the fire department emblem over his heart. He laughed a little awkwardly at Tony’s statement and nodded, having not spotted Steve yet and tried to continue.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Thank you Tony, um, so there’s been a fair few fire scares in this building and although we’ll get the alarm system checked, just to make sure it isn’t too sensitive, you can never be too careful with this sort of thing.”

Whilst Bucky was speaking, many things were happening at once. Dr Banner (Bruce) turned around to raise an eyebrow at Tony since the two worked in close quarters and he was getting increasingly irritated with Tony’s lack of fire safety. Tony started laughing which prompted Bruce to lean over and smack his arm, of course Tony smacked back and, outraged, Bruce began a counter attack. Steve was desperately trying to hide behind the bobbing, bickering pair with huge, mortified eyes on Sam, who was honestly barely holding in his laughter.

The bickering got more heated as Dr Banner tried to control his temper with his friend who happened to know exactly which buttons to push to piss him off. They were drawing attention away from Bucky towards them and throats were being cleared and huffed breaths were being released and Steve decided _this_ was what Hell was. He’d been very decided on never facing Bucky again and living with the burning embarrassment for the rest of his natural life and he’d been just fine with that, thanks for nothing Tony.

Just as it looked like their childish batting and poking and slapping was reaching its climax Tony grabbed Bruce’s sleeve and yanked and Dr Banner was sent flying out of his chair and Tony, in his triumph and hysteria couldn’t contain his booming laughter. Bruce looked furious.

“Dr Banner, Mr Potts, if I could have a moment outside with you both,” Their head teacher had a voice that said the pits of Hell would most likely be preferable to what he was about to deliver. Bruce was looking at the floor as he left. Tony was staring at Bruce, muffled laughter not very subtle. Bucky was watching them leave and hadn’t noticed Steve’s now completely unprotected position.

“Oh God, Sam, what do I do?” Steve hissed under his breath.

“Blow him a kiss man, or get stuck in a tree, fireman love that stuff,” Sam wheezed with laughter at his own wit and Steve yet again believed if looks could kill he’d be put on trial for a triple homicide shortly. In his panic Steve stared straight ahead and barely breathed as Bucky accepted the Head's profuse apologies.

“He’s not a T-Rex, Steve, he can still see you if you don’t move,”

“You’re a terrible human,”

“I know,”

/////

Bucky lost his train of thought after two fully grown men literally had to b escorted out after some kind of cat fight or mini brawl, he wasn’t exactly sure. Picking up where he left off he tried to look people in the eyes, a public speaking tip they’d been advised to use when giving these talks to put people at ease.

“So, be careful when checking your exit points,” He glanced from a portly red-faced man to a younger, anxious looking lady.

“Test the door handles if you aren’t sure where the fire is coming from,” His gaze followed from a larger lady with a friendly face to a well toned man with kind eyes.

 “If the handle’s hot--” His eyes stuck like glue onto the man with sandy hair and sky blue eyes.

“It, uh, if it, if it’s hot,” He couldn’t finish the sentence, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the blue that paralysed him and his pulse tripped over itself so loudly he was sure people could hear it. Steve had been stock still until his mouth quirked into a tiny reassuring smile and Bucky sucked in a relieved gasp only just remembering air was necessary. He tore his gaze away and cleared his throat, shaking his head a little to clear it and willing his face not to go red.

“Yes, so if the handle’s hot the fire could be behind it so make sure to find a cool exit point for the safest route out.” Bucky checked out and let himself go onto autopilot, glazed eyes drifting back and forth, not focusing anywhere or on anyone so he could recite the handbook and not choke on his own tongue in front of this group of intellectuals and his conscience personified sat on the second row.

/////

Bucky had finally caught his eye and had physically stuttered and even taken a step forwards, did he realise he’d done that? Steve saw all the anxiety and nostalgia reflected in Bucky’s eyes and he still wasn’t talking and he just wanted to run to him and do anything to make him know it’s all fine and they’re fine and he sees Bucky tuck his lip between his teeth and the gesture is so familiar and vulnerable and definitively _Bucky_ that he can’t help the smile that slips onto his face.

Bucky seemed to collect himself and Steve was fighting with himself internally as the talk continued on what he should do once Bucky had finished. Should he go right up and hug like he was sure most other childhood friends might? Should he wait for people to disperse or would that look like he didn’t want to talk? Maybe he should just leave, clearly Bucky didn’t come here to see Steve, he could make things weird—

“Stop trying to talk yourself out of it,” Sam started, Steve’s thoughts apparently quite transparent to him.

“Just go up and say hi,”

“Then what?” Steve knew he sounded pathetic but he was drowning here, after waiting so long to see him again, Bucky now seemed larger than life, although Steve did always remember him as a force of nature that you just happened to get caught up in if you were lucky. If he was drowning then it was just Bucky hitting him like some nostalgic tidal wave.

“Whatever you want, he’s your friend, remember?” Sam’s voice was kind and Steve steeled himself, he was never one to run away from a fight really anyway.

It felt like everyone had a question for Bucky before they could leave the staffroom and go back to their classrooms and Steve’s impatience was fairly evident as he glared at the back of people’s heads. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact Bucky was a charming, rugged fireman who was attentive and kind, he was basically the opposite of oblivious to that fact actually.

He edged closer with what he liked to think was perfect nonchalance gracing his features and Bucky noticed him immediately now he wasn’t hidden behind anyone.

“Yes, uh, if you’ll excuse me, miss,” The young recently qualified teacher was all hands as she thanked him again for extra good measure, because he didn’t hear you the first time you grabbed his arm, Steve thought bitterly. He shook himself out of his negative thoughts, it wasn’t her fault Bucky was so inviting, hell, if Steve knew who’s fault that was they would’ve received a strongly worded letter years ago. He’d made do with an illogical argument with Bucky once a month to let out his frustrations cryptically which drove Bucky insane.

Bucky moving past people to get to Steve was slightly unreal. He wasn’t swept away to some distant memory, he was painfully present. In fact he couldn’t think about anything else other than the fact Bucky was in every thought, feeling, stray emotion, not even a normal greeting for when Bucky came over and said hello.

“So you’re in me!” Steve announced and Bucky’s brow furrowed just a touch as Steve wondered how he was a functioning human.

“You’re here, I mean, with me, in this building where I work,” He tried again, a strong swing but alas, another miss if he was aiming for a normal social interaction. Luckily, Bucky must have heard something different because his face seemed to light up slowly, a smile blossoming as his eyes were just shining in that way they always did.

“I am,” Bucky said simply and the two just looked at each other for far too long. People were leaving the staffroom and Sam lingered as long as he could before he left too and it was just the two of them.

“It’s so good to see you, Stevie,” Bucky grinned and Steve’s insides collapsed helpfully.

“It’s really good to see you, Buck. You look good. Pulling cats out of trees, then?” Sam’s comment was stuck stubbornly in his head and he knew that was really cheesy but Bucky bit his lip with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully and damn if he didn’t just drive Steve over the edge.

“Not yet, but hey it’s only Tuesday,” Bucky replied easily with a laugh and Steve wondered why he’d ever thought he could live without that sound.

“But you, you teach here?” Bucky pushed on, eyes lighting up more as he gestured around them.

“Yeah, Art History, it’s really great,”

“Congratulations, wow, I’m so proud of you, man!” Bucky gushed unabashed and a lump rose in Steve’s throat and he tried to push it down and enjoy this moment.

“Thank you,”

Bucky looked like he wanted to speak but his phone rang from a pocket in his trousers and he looked at Steve apologetically as he took the call. As Bucky turned away to address someone that sounded like he might be a boss or at least a colleague, Steve took a deep quiet breath, willing himself to keep steady at how much joy was swelling in his chest at that moment. After Bucky hung up he turned again, pocketing his phone with a sigh of annoyance.

“I’ve got to get back to the station, something’s cropped up and they need me back but, uh,” He was stalling and it was pointless but worth every breath at the same time.

“Do you want to get a coffee with me at some point so we can properly catch up?” Steve blurted before he could talk himself out of it and Bucky tipped his head with a warm smile like Steve just donated a million dollars to charity.

“Yeah, yeah definitely, uh,” Bucky tried but his phone started beeping at him angrily and he made a gruff sound as he pulled it from his pocket and frowned heavily and for a crazy second Steve was angry at whoever was at the end of the phone. He quickly reminded himself someone could be in serious danger, perspective, Steve.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered.

“It’s fine, you need to go,” Steve went to the door and opened it for him, not wanting to be responsible to holding him up. Bucky was nodding down at his phone as he typed furiously back and kept his phone in hand, looking up at Steve.

“Sorry, yeah, uh call me some time about coffee though, okay? Don’t be a stranger,” Bucky’s smile was more of a hard line but he was slipping into professional mode and Steve was happy to see he was focused.

“Sure, go save some cats then, firefighter.” Steve helped and Bucky nodded appreciatively before turning and running down the corridor.

“Oh, Buck!” Steve yelled and Bucky grabbed a display board on the wall, nearly falling over as he skidded to a stop and Steve winced.

“Sorry, I don’t have your phone number, er,” He felt dumb asking for a phone number by yelling at a firefighter on duty down the corridors of a school. Bucky tried to yell back and even from a distance Steve could here the aggressive beeping from his phone no doubt telling him to get his arse in gear and Steve apologised over and over for holding him up.

“911!” Bucky yelled and took off down the corridor, speeding around a corner and was gone.

/////

Bucky was halfway to the station before he realised he’d just told Steve to ring 911 for a date. His brain glitched and he stumbled on the pavement a little. Not a date. A coffee with an old friend. A friend. An acquaintance? That cut through Bucky and he decided he much preferred old friend than the cold detachment of an acquaintance. Besides and acquaintance doesn’t usually make you go weak at the knees. The old feeling of being in way too deep slapped him on the back. Great. Here we go again.

All of that would have to wait. Right now he had to go to work and focus. Is that too much for you Barnes, he heard Natasha’s voice in his head and promptly got his shit together.

/////

Steve was pretty vacant for the rest of the day. He set simple tasks for his students and avoided the staffroom at lunch, not quite ready to face Sam and Tony’s inquisition, assuming Tony hadn’t been suspended.

Had he been paying attention he might have noticed the greying-haired man in a sharp suit sat on the bench that gave a perfect view into his classroom outside all day, watching him. He might have noticed him taking notes whenever Steve moved or spoke. He might have noticed the way he got up to leave as Steve did. But Steve wasn’t paying attention.

Leaving early, wanting to hide out in the local library for a minimum of four hours to fully digest everything, Steve sped out of the front doors and stopped sharply as a man stepped directly in front of him, a tight smile on his face.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Steven Rogers, isn’t it?” The man queried, face betraying nothing and Steve, accepted the offered handshake a little warily.

“Yes, sorry, you are?” The man held onto his hand even when Steve tried to pull away and watched him carefully, studying him like he was a bug to be squashed and an unsettling feeling sank through Steve’s stomach.

“Out of the darkness and into the light,” The man muttered, more to himself.

“I’m sorry?” Steve asked, a little alarmed now and he tugged his hand out of the man’s grip.

“Forgive me, the heat makes me a little theatrical,” The man laughed once and the November chill seemed to breeze past just to prove a point. Steve tried his hardest not to raise an eyebrow at the strange man.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Steven, I’m thinking of working here. I’m Alexander Pierce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Playlists are up, links at the top. Kudos and comments are love! I will try and update asap. Thanks! :) Belle. (please ignore any extra end notes, they keep popping up from the first chapter)


	4. Natural Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is reckless. Steve is furious. Bucky nearly dies. Steve wants to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! 100 kudos!! Thank you so so much that is amazing and lovely! I tried to get out this chapter quickly as a big thank you!!! And I got into university, it's confirmed and I'm over the moon so yay! Also again thanks for all the comments they are so brilliant and helpful. Now this is a long chapter and I'm sorry in advance for poor Bucky who is just pushed to his limits my poor son. I really hope you like this and please comment to let me know your thoughts it helps so much!!  
> (Also, this is set on the same day as last chapter just after!)  
> ((It's not super gory or anything but if you don't like any descriptions of injuries maybe skim??))  
> Okay enjoy!!

“Alright boys, time to work for a living,” Howard called over the bustling of the men changing rapidly into their gear.

The alarm in the hall wailed at them to hurry up and they moved like clockwork, each knowing their task, getting ready and checking the gear and each other to make sure everything was completely safe. Nobody said anything when Morita yelled for the fourth time to check your masks and Dum Dum didn’t even roll his eyes when Morita reminded him that he was first off the truck, as if Dum Dum hadn’t been doing this for years. Tightly wound was always better than panic in this line of work.

Bucky, who’d missed Fury’s speed briefing as he’d been with Steve, was trying to get the details of the fire from Falsworth who was checking Izzy’s gear with practiced scrutiny.

“Public library, it’s a little way out but we’re still the closest. No known cause, four 911 calls so far and evacuation’s been advised but we don’t know if everyone’s out so we’re treating it—” He waved a hand to signal ‘et cetera’ and Bucky nodded, this was fairly procedure for the fires they were sent to.

“Boss, you should watch Gabe,” Falsworth’s voice was lowered now and Bucky frowned in question.

“His girlfriend works there.”

“Shit,” Bucky breathed, spying the man who was hurriedly getting ready with the others, face not betraying anything but his hands looked firmer around his gear and he knew there was no way Gabe would sit this one out. He also knew saying anything would throw Gabe off his game, if he was trying to stay level-headed this would only be as much of an issue as he chose to make it.

Bucky was just zipping his coat tight when Izzy’s hiss of pain drew his eyes up, meeting the concerned gaze of Falsworth as Izzy grabbed where he’d been patting down on his lower leg. He straightened quickly but didn’t try and avoid the gaze of his colleagues.

“Izzy, your leg alright?” Bucky asked, half-concern, half-authority. It was the judgement call of each firefighter if they were up to the job on any day but their immediate superior was ultimately responsible for them and any civilian they put at risk by being stupid enough to fight a fire injured.

“I’m fine, boss.” His tone was practiced, unwavering calm and Bucky felt a little pride and a little guilt at making these guys so professional – so charged.

“Izzy—” Falsworth tried.

“I know my limits and I’m good.” Izzy’s tone was sharper now and Bucky surveyed him, nodding slightly.

“I trust your judgement. Ready to head out?” Both men nodded and Bucky gestured for them to get to the truck, knowing he needed to keep track of Gabe and Izzy.

He sucked in a deep breath, getting any spikes of nerves under control, making sure he was completely calm and focused before they left. His eyes tracked the fire safety and co-op poster that told them they needed to remember – **S** hield, **A** ssist, **F** ocus, **E** fficiency. It was unusual for Bucky to allow anything to cloud his judgement but he wasn’t dense enough not to recognise his own distractedness. But he was good at his job for a reason. He knew how to compartmentalise and keep his personal crap out of the way when necessary, any struggle to concentrate was just an anomaly. This was just an anomaly.

“Barnes, you gonna’ get your arse in the truck or shall we stick the radio on?” Howard yelled from the front and Bucky didn’t blink at the dripping sarcasm as he jumped on with the rest of the men.

“Your radio should already be on, moron, now drive.” A chorus of chuckles resounded around the truck but the tense silence that followed was the usual; thick with the potential of danger that hung in the air. They all knew better than to try and break the silence, this tension was what kept them sharp, on their guard and focused.

“Two minutes out, fellas,” Howard barked behind him as they sped towards the fire and the familiar sounds of scuffing boots and flexing jackets encased them in a moment of shared camaraderie.

Bucky met Gabe’s eye and gave him a firm nod, knowing his thoughts must be going wild but he was a good soldier. He appeared appeased and let out a hard breath, eyes on the front window and a minute later the truck reached a quick stop. Systematically exiting and taking in the scene, the 107th surged into their famous routine.

In some respects these sorts of buildings were better for fires as they were easier to put out, being only a ground floor but with buildings so close either side and the place literally filled with kindling, speed was paramount. The left side of the building was blackened and smoke was clouding pooling around the windows and the glass double doors, and opaque overtook transparency as the building inside was not visible. What was especially worrying was that flames weren’t in sight yet but the billows of smoke were uncomfortably dark, black and tainted and clinging to any spare patch of blue sky. This meant that the fire inside had already built up quite a lot but was further inside the building than they’d like, the further in they had to go, the more likely it was that the roof might collapse before they could get out.

Morita and Dum Dum got all civilians far away from the building, Dernier and Izzy went to the back of the building and Bucky and Gabe would go in first, with Falsworth following in after them. There was a thrill and an anxiety that seeped into Bucky’s skin when he first entered a building on fire, mask keeping him painfully aware that what he was doing went against every natural instinct. His fight or flight instincts had more or less given up on him as he ran into flames and away from any kind of romantic attraction.

He could sense Gabe’s eagerness to get through the building and make sure everyone was out and Bucky prayed to anything that might be listening that they wouldn’t find Gabe’s girlfriend in here in a bad way. Walking in steadily, the smoke was even thicker than Bucky had anticipated and it seemed to clog up any spare space, it felt as if they were physically shouldering their way through it as it clawed heavily at their ankles and shoulders. Gabe began to drift out too far on Bucky’s left than comfortable and Bucky leaned out and tapped him twice, pulling him in slightly; the smoke too murky for much distance between them to be safe as he knew Falsworth couldn’t see them to watch their back.

The further in they went, the more the flames came into view, orange spires curdled by the waves of heat ricocheting off of every surface. They manoeuvred through the aisles of books, finding all desks empty and with the chairs strewn across the floor from the panic their occupiers left in, it was difficult to find safe spaces to step in the darkness. Fuses blowing was commonplace but still frustrating.

With the noise of the fire and the creaking of pressured wooden boards and crumbling of metal shelves, Bucky felt a dumb ache in the back of his skull, like someone was blowing up a balloon in his head and it was pressing against the bone. Signalling Gabe to go around the side of one collapsed aisle to help him lift it from their path the dull ache shifted to a more prominent throb and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a second, collecting himself.

He was struggling to see Gabe and he wasn’t sure if it was nerves or his head or the fact that something was telling him something was very wrong, probably a mix of all three, he felt sick to his stomach.

“Gabe, you ready?” He yelled, unsure if Gabe could hear a word he was even saying. He waited a second, squinting through the smoke, looking for some glimpse of colour in the dark.

“Gabe – shit,” Bucky’s stomach churned dangerously and his head throbbed mercilessly, stumbling backwards he hit the upright aisle behind him with force and the impact coupled with his headache made stars appear in his vision. Something wasn’t right, he couldn’t think properly, as if the smoke attempted to invade his lungs had decided the easiest entry point was through his mind.

“Jones!” He yelled, loud enough to be heard over the crackling. Still nothing. Alarm bells were going off in his head and not being able to see Gabe and Falsworth not catching up with them set his nerves on edge. He knew he needed to think, he was in charge, he needed to figure out just what the fuck was going on but he lost all ability to fully dictate his head. This coalition of pain, confusion and disorientation was unsustainable. He was vaguely aware that the heat was rising considerably and in his peripheral an undesirable sickly orange was spreading and climbing.

Deciding he would go around the aisle Gabe had disappeared to he tried to move forwards but as he did so he swayed violently, his vision blurring and doubling every other movement. It was like a hangover crossed with the flu and Bucky felt nausea rise up his throat but knew better than to take his helmet off to vomit.

“Gabe! Falsworth!” He yelled, his voice was strained and his foot caught on a stray chair leg and he slammed to the ground, his sleeves riding up and grazes licking up his forearms making him cry out. Blinking, he saw a clump of explosives just a few metres ahead of him, the same token he’d been researching stared back at him and suddenly everything was too immediate. Scrambling to get up, the fresh sting of cut skin made adrenaline flood his system and his head cleared slightly. This clarity was a blessing.  

Holding onto a wooden beam, Bucky analysed his surroundings in a split-second. This was the second in two consecutive fires that his department was sent to with that token and explosives and things going wrong. Whatever was happening here wasn’t an accident, it was a target job. Looking up he could see what looked like vents and something clicked in the back of his head.

Pushing himself off of the beam, his mind and body stubbornly submitted the same complaints which were near impossible to dismiss. He staggered back towards the front exit as fast as he could, hitting tables and bookshelves and after an amount of time he couldn’t decide on he saw Falsworth lying unconscious on the floor by the large checking out desk.

“Fuck, Falsworth!” He didn’t expect a reply but was renewed by the new strength in his own voice and he leaned precariously, dragging his fallen colleague up by his shoulders. Taking a deep breath he launched the other man’s weight upwards and over his right shoulder, staggering back under the new weight but forcing himself to push on, eventually slamming through the front doors.

/////

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what his conversation with Mr Pierce had been for (yes he called people Mr, he was well-mannered!) The guy was ambiguous, he didn’t want a tour or any advice or even a recommendation for a good deli (which was a long shot). He stared more than Steve would like and grabbed his arm every time he’d turned to go, giving some weird reason or telling him about the stock market or weapons licenses. Long story short, he made Steve uncomfortable.

After about twenty minutes of awkward and unhelpful conversation he finally let Steve go, saying he looked forward to seeing him again. Guiltily, Steve honestly hoped that wouldn’t be any time soon, but of course he made nice and was polite and unassuming. Now he definitely just wanted to bury himself in books of renaissance literature or art analysis and switch off from this weird day.

As he walked the block or so to the library he heard sirens and the closer he got the more the sound of crowds of people got louder. Rounding the corner he was assaulted with a wave of smoke and a pillar of sound when he saw the library surrounded by a perimeter of people and a fire engine and three police cars and a dome of smoke he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen sooner. This was nothing compared to the building itself.

The apartment building fire he’d been at over a week ago had been smoky and charred looking but actual flames were minimal. The library had an entire half of it engulfed in a flickering orange spectacle. There were three or four firefighters tackling it from the outside and another couple guarding the barrier set up to protect civilians as there only seemed to be three or four policeman on the scene. The sheer mass of the flames made his eyes glaze as it was impossible to focus on one part of it as the tongues of fire undulated unpredictably.

He didn’t even realise he was walking until he tripped on the kerb on the other side of the road and his throat was raw from his rough breathing as he searched for Bucky in the sparse yellow coats. Someone grabbed his arm and the sensation was unwelcome after Mr Pierce’s twenty minute spontaneous monologue. However, turning, he saw Alex, the young woman who sat behind the desk in the library who Steve often chatted two, tear tracks staining her face.

“Oh my God, Alex! Are you alright?” Steve instinctually brought a hand protectively to her face, looking into her eyes carefully. She shook her head shakily.

“My boyfriend’s in there, he hasn’t come out, I don’t know what’s happening.” She sucked in a pained breath, corroded in swallowed tears. Steve remembered her saying her boyfriend was a firefighter.

“I’m going to try and find out what’s going on,”

“Steve, you can’t they’ve all—”

“It’s fine, my friend’s a firefighter, I’m going to find him and ask where, Gabe right?” She nodded.

“I’m going to find out where Gabe is, okay? You stay here, it’ll be okay,” She nodded again, arms wrapped around herself, eyes flicking back to the library door every second and Steve squeezed her arm before leaving her.

He pushed through the crowd and saw an ambulance next to the fire engine and Steve’s stomach hit the ground instantly, terrified he’d find Bucky in there. In the panic, he managed to slip through people and around the 107th’s barrier with police to the open ended doors of the ambulance and shuddered a heavy breath to find it empty.

Coming away from the ambulance he scanned the crowd, he could see firefighters, none of which were Bucky, and he didn’t know what Gabe looked like but clearly he was inside the library too if Alex couldn’t find him. One of the larger guys who was still outside caught sight of him and made a beeline towards him and Steve panicked a little, knowing he should be behind the protective line of police.

“I- I’m sorry I was looking for—”

“It’s Steve, right?” The man asked and Steve was confused for a moment.

“Uh... yeah,”

“The boys talk,” the other man responded, seeing the question on Steve’s face.

“Bucky’s still in there,” he continued, looking like he was worried Steve was going to collapse. Steve’s throat working was audible as he attempted to nod.

“He’s a good firefighter, Steve. He’ll be alright.”

“Oh, my friend works here she was wondering about her boyfriend, Gabe, is he still in there too?”

“Yeah, there’s three in at the minute, but they’re damn good.” The man smiled reassuringly and Steve couldn’t help thinking he must have had to have this sort of conversation many times before.

“Thank you, er,”

“Dum Dum,” He supplied with a smile, his eyes drifting back to the crowds and the library entrance and Steve wanted every possible support for Bucky if he was in there.

“Please, I just want to stay out of the way, I won’t cause any trouble, you can get back to it,” He pleaded, his face must have done its job in conveying his fraying edges because Dum Dum sighed and nodded, waving him backwards so he was completely out of the way.

Steve stood by the side of the ambulance, vaguely aware of the paramedics inside talking and preparing gear. Essentially, nothing had changed, but everything had altered very quickly at the same time. He hadn’t quite got his head around Bucky jumping into burning buildings on the regular like it was nothing. A small part of him also reminded him he hadn’t told Bucky to be careful before he’d left the school earlier, not that it would have made a difference. But he hadn’t said it. It wouldn’t have made a difference. He should have said it.

/////

“Hey, I need a medic here, right now!” Bucky yelled the moment he was outside, ripping off his helmet as paramedics hurried over, taking Falsworth from his shoulders. He gulped in the fresh air greedily and Dum Dum, Morita and Howard hurried towards them, eyes wide on Falsworth and their rattled superior, all trying to help. Bucky grabbed a paramedic’s shoulder.

“Carbon monoxide.”He choked out; his voice was jagged in the clean air.

“And maybe some other shit as well if it can get through our masks but there’s definitely monoxide poisoning,” The paramedics nodded furiously, yelling in medical jargon he didn’t understand but didn’t need to, to know Falsworth was in good hands. Bucky saw him to the ambulance quickly and on his way to turn back around caught sight of Steve. Just standing, staring from about two metres away, eyes wide and terrified, not of the fire. Bucky knew he must look like shit and the fire was big even for him but he didn’t have time for this. He needed to get Gabe out and if Steve did something dumb like try to get him to stay he was going to go mad.

“Steve, I can’t,” He was run-ragged and the comfort of those eyes was something he didn’t know he wanted until he nearly collapsed under the weight of them.

“Be careful,” Steve’s voice was firm and he spoke like he was finishing an argument they’d somehow been having for years and a thick swell of emotion rose in Bucky’s chest as he nodded weakly.

Steeling himself, he span back around and put his mask back on, Morita checking his seal without being asked.

“I need another oxygen tank and mask, Gabe’s might be mask might’ve broken if he’s fallen and if he’s breathing this shit in even more he’s in trouble,” A mask and tank was being passed to him before he’d even finished his sentence and he made sure not to look over his shoulder as he went to run back into the library when he saw the three men going to follow him.

“No, boys, stay out here, take a hose around the other side at the back – shit, Howard, there’s more explosives, the same as before, I can’t diffuse it,” Bucky made to move again but a wall of sound hit him.

“I’m on it,” Howard got right to work in getting a bomb squad on scene but the others were horrified.

“Are you crazy, going in without a bomb team?” Morita cried.

“Boss, this is dumb we’re coming with you!” Dum Dum looked determined but Bucky was beyond being swayed.

“Carbon monoxide and explosives?” Steve’s voice made his shoulders tense and wow, Steve should be in the handbook of things dangerous to have on the job.

“Dum Dum, keep an eye on Steve for me?” Bucky clenched out, not turning to look at Steve as he wound the oxygen tube around his arm.

“Bucky, are you fucking serious?” Steve’s voice was incredulous and borderline panic and God, Bucky’s head needed to stop spinning.

“I’m coming in with you, boss!” Dum Dum insisted and Bucky lost it.

“No you’re fucking not!” He roared.

“You’re all staying out of this fucking building that is a direct instruction and I am your superior, I’m not putting more men at risk.” He carried on to a stunned, unhappy silence. He turned directly to Dum Dum.

“Keep Steve away from the fire, alright,” He ordered and Dum Dum nodded seriously. Steve erupted in protest but Bucky was already running for the doors to the library and Dum Dum was already dragging Steve away from the open space. If Bucky thought he felt sick before, that was nothing to what he was feeling now.

Slamming through the doors again with the knowledge that he may as well have run into a sign that said ‘will spontaneously combust and explode at any moment’ – the jolt down his spine nearly choked a laugh from him but he brought himself under control. Find Gabe. Get him out. A simple enough objective but God knows what state he was in and how quickly the fire would spread, how long until the explosives would go off.

His gear stuck to him and the heat made him sweat and want to keel over it was so overpowering. He knew carbon monoxide was invisible and odourless but he felt like he could see it swarming around him, trying to drag him down and he pushed forwards more, the ache is head and nausea spiking again. Something must have been added to the gas to make it so strong as he was reacting so quickly and he didn’t waiting for the imminent dizziness that was no doubt to come whilst he rushed to find Gabe.

The fire was curled around now so it was arching along the edge and into the centre path down the library and with the aisles along the edge collapsing Bucky had to squeeze past the encroaching flames. He fought to control his breathing, the urge to huff in gulps of air was natural but it would work against him. He was light-headed. Please, please don’t pass out, he begged to no one.  

He finally found the aisle he’d meant to lift with Gabe before and he had to use his free arm that wasn’t holding an oxygen tank and mask and heave at the heavy shelves and tomes both in and scattered around the metal structure. He lifted and tugged with everything he had and the metal corner scraped heavily down his leg, ripping the material off of his trouser leg and yelled in pain and deliberately didn’t look down to see the damage. He at last shoved the aisle out of his way, his back heating up dangerously at the close proximity to the flames and the flames terrifyingly close to the explosives.

“Gabe!” He screamed, trying to ground himself and not lose his nerve in these extremes as he could barely stand upright without staggering. Moving forwards he shuddered with both relief and fear as he saw Gabe’s lifeless form stretched out by the far wall and a long tear down his arm and his mask cracked as he lay amidst debris.

Bucky quickly got to work, falling to his knees as he fumbled to replace Gabe’s old mask with the new one and new tank as quickly as his clumsy gloved hands would allow him to. He was praying that Gabe hadn’t breathed in too much, that could end in brain damage or worse. Not sure if Gabe was even breathing, Bucky was careful to mind his colleague’s arm and shifted his weight and tugged him up and leaning on Bucky’s back.  He didn’t have the strength to lift him like he’d lifted Falsworth. Wrapping both arms behind him, awkwardly clinging to Gabe to keep him upright he leaned forwards and started dragging him back to the centre path, having to pull him back up every couple of seconds.

The flames were everywhere now and Bucky was stemming his panic as he looked for a safe route but there wasn’t time. He pulled Gabe through the fire, shielding him as best he was able, biting into his lip when the fire tried to devour his gear. At any moment the explosives could go off. He could die at any second. He thought made Bucky push on faster and think and feel as much as he could in case he couldn’t in the next second.

He relished the pain in his leg and up his arms and in his head because it meant he wasn’t quite dead yet. He couldn’t die. He had to get Gabe out. He had to make sure everyone was safe. He had to put the fire out.

And Steve was outside.

Tiny, furious, incredible Steve who Bucky only just got back. Steve who wanted to get coffee and catch up. Steve who told him to be careful. He’d never forgive Bucky if he didn’t make it back out of those doors.

His feet were lead attached to his stinging legs that were awful weights to lift with every step.  Gabe kept slipping in his arms and Bucky turned, wrapping his arms around Gabe’s midriff, tugging them both blindly towards the doors.

Somewhere along the line he barely registered bodies rushing past him and others helping him lift Gabe’s body and hurry out of the doors. He suddenly came back to himself when the light of the sun attacked his eyes and he squinted around him. Gabe was being rushed to an ambulance and the boys were flooding around him. A paramedic came up to Bucky but he waved her away, gesturing for her to help Gabe.

He couldn’t quite hear properly, everything was a little muffled, like he was wrapped in cotton wool. There was yelling and sirens and people crying and the deafening hiss of the hoses and crackle of the flames but Bucky was trying for something specific. In the distance he saw what he was looking for and surged in that direction.

Out on his own, Steve was handcuffed to a car door’s handle and the keys were on the floor just out of reach. The closer he got the more definition came to Bucky’s hearing and the less spotty his vision became. It was so loud and Steve was yelling and tugging against his cuffed arm and as Bucky came in earshot his he’s pretty certain his heart doubled in size.

“—so fucking reckless! What were you thinking!? You could’ve died and I was going to have to watch you selfish son of a bitch!” He stopped yelling to turn and tug on the cuff around his red raw wrist and then turned back to Bucky. His eyes were wet and bloodshot and his hair was wild and he looked so wild and electric and heartbroken and relieved and Bucky for the first time in a long fucking time, he went with his instincts.

Steve was silent now he was close and Bucky didn’t stop, he crowded Steve and with both hands cupped the smaller man’s face and crashed their mouths together. For a second Steve was frozen but then he gripped Bucky’s jacket and tugged him impossibly close. Bucky kissed him ferociously like he still only had seconds to live, it was messy and painful and perfect. Steve was giving as good as he got, neither one daring to breathe, or daring to question what was happening. Bucky licked into his mouth and Steve whimpered, pushing himself up onto his tiptoes, getting as close as he could, wrist rattling the cuffs, desperate to use his other hand. All Bucky could think was ‘finally’, with relief that wracked through him like nothing he’d ever experienced.

However, another bout of dizziness coursed through him as the adrenaline he’d been riding couldn’t sustain the level Bucky was demanding as he kissed Steve and his poor heart wanted to give out under the pressure of it all. He pulled away and gulped in air, falling heavily against the police car’s door, wheezing as Steve just stood and stared at him. Bucky met his gaze as they both heaved in air and gulped as the reality of what he just did was hitting him square in the face and, yeah, he was too spent to handle this.

“Buck...” Steve whispered, his tone and face undecipherable to Bucky which he’d once liked to think was a specialty of his and the gravity of his situation sank into him.

“Oh shit,” He gaped for a second longer before pushing himself off the car, really panicking now. Dum Dum was walking over, presumably to let Steve out of the handcuffs and this was real, it happened and Bucky couldn’t undo the damage he’d done this time.

“Bucky,” Steve tried but he was walking away, walking was a loose term for the staggering Bucky was doing, ignoring Dum Dum who told him to go and see a paramedic. The stubborn flames were finally dying down leaving half the building gone but the buildings either side were only blackened and it looked like the explosives had been dealt with, as at last another department had arrived and police were everywhere.

He needed to get out of here, needed to get away from Steve and what he’d just ruined. He also needed alcohol and bandages and pain meds but he was choosing to ignore that for the time being. He had three people on the subway ask if he needed an ambulance, to all he had just shook his head, not managing even a hint of a smile. When he at last trudged painfully up the stairs to his apartment, he felt weak and terrible. The door opened before he could knock and Natasha looked horrified an upset as her eyes raked over his general wrecked body and devastated face.

“Oh Barnes, what did you do?”

Bucky winced and fell across the threshold, blacking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this! I was sad writing it but loved writing all of it as well! Please let me know your thoughts and I will try and get a new chapter out as soon as possible!!  
> (also again please ignore stupid glitchy end notes from the first chapter - I can't get rid of them!)


	5. Sight of Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's avoidance and Steve's distraction collide into a very messy meeting in the street outside a gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry this is so late! I've been on holiday but it went a bit wrong and I've been ill and I leave for uni in 11 days so it's a bit hectic. I'm hoping to get all chapters written before I go so I can just regularly upload for you guys! Also thank you so much for everyone who gave kudos and commented last chapter, the response was amazing! Again, I'm sorry if things aren't all perfect or accurate I'm going off basic knowledge, research and no beta but I try and keep it realistic! Please enjoy and comments are really brilliant!!

Bucky didn’t often panic, but when he did it was usually difficult to spot as he tended to cave in on himself, lashing out at anyone who tried to tug him out of his panic-pit. It was his own sulky and dramatic form of self-preservation. Luckily, Natasha was well versed in Barnes dramatics and was a patient, if exasperated, comrade. She’d patched him up in pointed silence when he’d shown up a burnt mess and Bucky already knew she was sick of his aversion to any kind of medical help.

He’d slept for 26 hours straight after that, a personal record, and Nat told him he had an email from Fury to submit his report as soon as possible but he wasn’t to come back to work for the rest of the week at least. He really didn’t want to make this a habit. Every time Nat bugged him to tell her what happened he just begged for coffee, aspirin and silence. He figured the longer he slept the more he was unconscious and could ignore taking any responsibility for his actions.

That was his very mature game plan anyway.

He lived off coffee and cereal for the next three days before Nat cut him off, saying she wouldn’t be his enabler anymore, if he wanted food he’d have to go out and get some, like an adult. He trudged to the corner shop and back, grabbing the most grown-up looking pasta and salad he could find and an apology chocolate bar for Natasha. He even toned down his hell-fire glare when he got back and found his local doctor in their apartment and Natasha wearing a stern and determinedly unapologetic expression. Several tests and ‘follow my finger’ and suggestions of rest later and the doctor finally left.

“Happy now? I’m cleared for duty.” Bucky smirked wearily from where he was leant against the wall.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of what just happened.” Natasha snarked but her smile was kind, probably now that he’d agreed to at least pretend to be a grown up.

“My word against yours,” He countered with a grin and she threw a cushion at him which he dodged with a laugh.

“Barnes, if you’re going to talk, now’s the time. Whatever it is – I know it’s about Rogers and I know it happened at the fire but no one will talk so save me some trouble, will you?” She crossed her arms and levelled him with a pokerface unmatched in the continental US. Bucky stiffened, resisting the urge to shift his gaze elsewhere because then she’d know she was right.

“Nat, leave it alone. Is that why Barton isn’t here, so you could ambush me? Surely a tag team would’ve been more effective. Actually this is the first time all year that scrounger hasn’t been on the sofa, where is he? Does have a real home now or has someone else taken in the stray?”

“He was doing a job for me actually,” Nat’s smirk turned dangerous and cut off Bucky’s tirade and, before Bucky could say another word, the door was unlocked and Clint walked in with a key in his hand and people following him in.

“You gave him a key. Brilliant. Now he can have sleepovers.”

“Shut it, Barnes, I asked him to get Howard and Sharon to come. We have the unfortunate but necessary job of dragging you out of your sulk fest.”

“Sulk fest? I’m not—”

“We’re nipping it in the bud. Before the soul music and ramen phase kicks in.” Clint helped, slumping onto the sofa next to Natasha who nodded solemnly.

“That’s not a thing.” Bucky snapped.

“Buddy, I admire your unwavering denial but everyone knows that’s a thing,” Howard said happily, swinging an arm over Bucky’ shoulders.

“We have a lot to talk about and besides I have the perfect place to relax you! That’s why we have Sharon here,” Howard announced, sounding more excited than anything and it was quickly beginning to piss Bucky off. He shrugged off Howard’s arm and turned to an unphased looking Sharon and smiled tightly.

“Your little Stevie’s been calling the station non-stop, you know? Any reason you’re not calling him back?” Howard prodded and Bucky cleared his throat loudly, a clear warning for Howard to watch his step. Bucky looked back to Sharon, an innocent participant of this charade.

“I’m sorry about, well, just all of this. We haven’t met, right? I’m Bucky,” He leaned over and shook her hand. His Mother may not have raised a genius but she did raise a gentleman, he had manners.

“Sharon Carter and it’s okay. I have special tickets to this new art exhibit at the gallery my cousin works at and—”

“Nat called in a favour?” Bucky sighed, not questioning Nat’s endless connections.

“It’s gonna’ be fun!” Howard laughed and everyone looked a little suspicious at his overly happy demeanour.

“Since when are you into art, Stark?” Bucky honed in and Howard huffed nonchalantly.

“Since forever. Shut up. Clean up and get on something nice. We’re leaving.”

/////

Steve was ready to pull his hair out.

He’d rang the fire station and asked for Bucky three times a day for four days now. Howard answered every time because he’d found their station’s direct number online and was outrageously good at avoiding answering Steve’s questions. He’d even showed up at the station twice, the first time being told that Bucky wasn’t around and the second time he actually got thrown out! Reluctantly by Dum Dum who told him not to worry.

At first he knew Bucky would be healing from whatever injuries he’d sustained from the library fire and wouldn’t be in a state to come back to work. So Steve had volunteered with the cleanup crew to help shift the debris but it didn’t exactly take his mind off of things. But as the days went on he was positive Bucky was avoiding him and he couldn’t help think it was because Bucky was horrified that he had actually kissed Steve. Was he that repulsive of an option?

He’d thrown himself into work in an attempt to distract himself. He’d planned his lessons up until next term and then replanned them, was asking for resources and after school revision sessions and driving everyone crazy telling them about the new adult classes he was going to start teaching after school and that they should all come. The report cards which other teachers had barely started were all done in Steve’s classroom and everything he owned was stained in powder paint and graphite as he was drawing in every spare moment, his usually flowing technique now all harsh lines and dark angles and scribbled edges and smudged backgrounds. His whole attitude screamed frustrated. Luckily, Sam and Peggy were actually being pretty good about the whole thing.

/////

Sam and Peggy exchanged a look as they waited for Steve to speak. He’d burst into the apartment a couple of minutes ago and was pacing in front of the sofa they were sat on. Sam was a good friend – he paused You’ve Got Mail (so he’s partial to a good Meg Ryan film, what of it?). Steve stopped pacing and faced them, a hand covering his mouth as if to stop the words flowing from it and his friends sat up a little more thinking this would be when he started.

However he just huffed out a breath, turned and paced more vigorously, a frown plastered on his face. Sam raised an eyebrow at Peggy signalling ‘this one’s yours’.

“Steve, do you want to sit down?” Peggy prodded carefully to judge the atmosphere and Steve simply shook his head, continuing to pace. Peggy hmm-ed.

“Right, well you either sit down and watch a romcom with us or you tell us what happened.” Her ultimatum was clear and ordinarily Steve would naturally choose romantic comedies over facing his problems, who wouldn’t, but this was too pressing.

“Bucky kissed me.” He blurted, stopping to gauge their reaction and they both looked at him in shock.

“Right!” Steve exclaimed, feeling validated.

“Did you kiss him back?” Peggy asked, getting straight to the point and Steve stuttered.

“Well, I think, I, I mean yeah I did but it was all, I don’t know,” Steve was floundering as he realised he hadn’t quite thought about that.

“Do you want him to kiss you again?” Sam asked thoughtfully, his chin atop his hand.

“What? No!” Steve was far too quick in his response and he gulped painfully.

“It wasn’t anything,” He continued, the words tasting odd on his tongue.

“So it didn’t mean anything?” Peggy’s voice was sceptical.

“It wasn’t romantic,” Steve side-stepped artfully and everyone chose to let him have that one.

“It was at the library, well, outside the library, because it was on fire, by the way,” Steve’s afterthought didn’t bring any surprise to his friends who seemed to have guessed as much.

“I don’t know, he wasn’t expecting to see me! HHe dragged someone out and then he went back in and there was carbon monoxide or something and explosives and fire and I was freaking out because his friend handcuffed me to a car,” Sam’s sympathetic laugh did actually help ease his tension a little.

“Yeah, it was ridiculous. And then, I don’t know, he came back out and he looked awful all cut up and burnt and like he needed an ambulance but he came straight for me and just,” He waved his arms to gesture the rest and Peggy and Sam nodded understandingly.

“I know what it was, it was adrenaline and he’d nearly died for God’s sake but he was in such a bad way and then I guess it all seemed to catch up to him because he looked just... like he’d just killed someone or something, which is just...” His laugh felt uncomfortable. The way Bucky had looked at him, there was no way he could describe it but regret.

“It sounds like the guy was only half-there, you know?” Sam tried and Steve’s look made him try again quite quickly.

“Not that someone would only kiss you when they’re not fully present, man, I just meant—”

“He didn’t realise what he was doing, but he’s probably worried that you think badly of him.” Peggy supplied.

“Exactly, yeah,” Sam agreed.

“Well, what am I supposed to do? I only just got him back in my life and now everything is all weird!”

“Just talk to him, corner him if you have to. Just let him know you understand and you’re cool with it and still want to be friends.” Sam added and Steve felt a little better with the problem shared.

“You’re right! You’re right. He’ll probably be just as eager to clear this whole thing up, right?”

/////

“Remind me again why an art exhibit is going to make me feel better?” Bucky asked as Howard drove them there in an eccentric and expensive looking car that went so quickly Howard affectionately named it ‘Hovercraft’ because it felt like they were flying. Bucky would’ve thought Howard was trying to impress Sharon and add her to his list of conquests but he was paying little to no attention to her. He was overly eager and fidgety in his anticipation. Something within Bucky couldn’t see Howard as an art aficionado and his gut was telling him there was more going on than he knew about.

But it was just Howard being weird. And he was tired and grouchy. And sandwiched between Nat and Clint in the backseat. And perpetually embarrassed. So he let it go.

“Culture!” Howard yelled.

Bucky shifted awkwardly to fix Nat with a look she knew very well.

“Culture.” He mimicked and a smile swept over her features in amusement.

“Culture,” She shrugged and Clint wheezed a laugh, earning him an elbow to the side which shut him up quite effectively.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate culture,” Bucky muttered bitterly as they screeched to a halt in front of an admittedly suave looking building. They clambered out and the full building came into view.

It was undeniably elegant. The architecture was that of an English Victorian era home, all carved stone and character. However, going inside it was a white sheen with minimalist instalments, the whole focus on the art as they were surrounded by a clear canvas. The extravagance started with the chandeliers and ended with the free champagne (nice touch). However the plain wooden benches to view the art and understated hum of instrumental music and chatter gave the place a humble and classy feel.

“You’re glad I made you dress up now, right?” Howard remarked with a smug smile. Bucky rolled his shoulders under the tight material of the suit jacket he’d thrown on. He was actually pretty relieved he hadn’t been stubborn and shown up in sweats and a vest.

Walking in, surprisingly, felt like relief sinking into Bucky. For once Howard had made a good call to make him feel better, though the credit should really go to Nat who was already stalking off with Clint, looking very self-satisfied.

He let himself start walking around and the building was a lot bigger than it first appeared and a spiral staircase at the back took you to a second floor with smaller pieces that weren’t for sale.

Bucky had never paid much attention to art. In fact, the only art he’d ever really cared about was Steve’s. He used to bring Steve new pencils every two weeks and hide them in his pencil case so he didn’t know Bucky was buying him new ones. The thought made him smile as looking back there was a lot of stuff Steve didn’t notice. _That_ thought, however, made the smile slip from his face and he glared at the nearest painting, forcing himself to see its hidden meanings and moral message or anything to take his mind away from his plaguing thoughts about Steve and the fire and things left unsaid from their childhood.

The painting was of someone’s hand reaching out of a window towards someone walking on the street below, their face obscured by the hand reaching towards them. Looking closely at Steve’s hand, it was typically smudged with grey stains and a rolled up sleeve was visible and Bucky realised too late that he was inwardly referring to the hand as Steve’s hand.

Stepping back with a gulp he thought maybe an art exhibition wasn’t such a great place to take his mind away from Steve. Howard’s hand slamming onto his shoulder made him jump and he snapped out of his reverie. Looking to his friend, Howard’s eyes were tracking a figure in heels making the rounds of the gallery exhibit with a trained eye.

The lady in question was a bombshell, brunette, gorgeous figure, a style that said vintage and lipstick heels that said modern. Watching her the two could see she wasn’t stopping to view the art, rather she was watching the people, greeting a few and walking with purpose.

“That’s my cousin. Peggy!” Sharon called with a smile, catching the woman’s attention who made a bee-line for them. Peggy, where had Bucky heard that name before?

“She’s why you’re here, right?” Bucky smirked as he watched Howard smooth his hair and fix a cocky smile on his face.

“You’re damn right, Barnes.”

“How do you two know each other?”

Howard didn’t respond as the brunette caught sight of the two of them and Bucky suddenly felt like he was being examined. Her eyes narrowed on Howard and for a split-second Bucky thought Howard’s cocky smile might have worked already but then she rolled her eyes and stormed over.

“What are you doing here, Stark?” She snapped, ignoring Bucky. Howard laughed easily and Bucky winced at Peggy’s shoulders squaring. The movement was so Steve-like before a fight he couldn’t pretend not to see it.

“I came to see the art. And ask you out again,” His grin was cavalier.

“As I told you the last time you were here, and the times before that, this art is to be appreciated not laughed at.” Her glare was fierce and on instinct Bucky took a slight step back. Howard apparently had a deathwish – stepping forward.

“If I buy the most expensive doodle in this joint you have to come dancing with me.” Howard played his high card and without hesitation Peggy slapped him once, hard, across the face. It was controlled and her face didn’t change, almost as if she was used to dealing with pretentious guys hitting on her.

Howard was holding a hand to his red cheek and no doubt bruised ego. His smile had finally faded into an expression resembling both confusion and respect.

“Maybe you’re new to interacting with women but here’s a tip, undermining the integrity of my work and believing you could actually _buy_ me is, crazily enough, not the way to win me over.” She spoke with an English accent that was pleasant but somehow made her sound more intimidating. Howard nodded, looking around at the building, many people stopping to watch their encounter.

“I’m sorry—”

“Better.” She interrupted.

“If you let me stay and look at the art some more, I’ll leave you to it, I won’t bother you anymore.” Howard offered, his face calmer now, hands up in surrender. Peggy’s face softened a little and she tilted her head just a touch and maybe Bucky was going crazy because that mannerism was so Steve it hit him in the chest.

“You can stay.” Peggy said simply. Howard smiled and nodded again, wisely choosing not to say anything else. Peggy turned sharply to Bucky then and he was half-afraid she’d ht him too for staring but she smiled easily and held out a hand for him to shake.

“Sorry about that, Howard seems to bring out the worst in me. Peggy Carter, I’m the curator, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Not a problem, I’m fairly certain Howard has that effect on everyone. Bucky Barnes.” Bucky had been going for friendly but he must have said something wrong because her grip on his hand went tight as he spoke.

“Bucky?” She repeated, her eyes widening slightly and she looked as if she was just now noticing his existence as a human, appraising him intensely.

“Yeah... is that going to be a problem?” He said with an awkward laugh, pulling his hand out of her grip and exchanging a look of ‘what the fuck’ with Howard.

“Oh, no, of course not. Enjoy the exhibit Mr Barnes.” She was back to her professional persona but looked eager to leave and turned on her heel, heading for the doors, leaving a confused Bucky to continue looking around the exhibit.

/////

It was Sunday and Steve had all but given up on the manhunt. He had at on crazy point suggested finding where Bucky lived and just waiting him out which Sam and Peggy had quickly told him was a terrible idea.

Peggy was at the gallery and to lighten his spirits Sam had gone to his art supplies, picked out the cheapest paint he could find, got a dollop on his hand and, like the good friend he was, threw it directly at Steve, hitting a bullseye on his chest.

From where he had been moping at the kitchen table Steve gasped in horror and Sam doubled over laughing.

“What was that for!” He yelled. Sam threw him tubes of blue, green and orange whilst Sam kept red, purple and yellow.

“Paint fight. You and me, right now!” Sam laughed as Steve wasted no time getting up and getting all colours in one hand and launching it at Sam with a triumphant yell. Sam cackled as it caught his shoulder and splattered the walls behind them. Peggy would be pissed but this was a battle of the ages and there would be casualties.

Sam’s tactic had been aerial attack but Steve was an up-close fighter and surged forwards with the slippery tubes, slamming a gorgeous sea green into Sam’s face, using a round pizza tray as a shield. Sam spluttered as some went into his mouth and Steve, the sneak, used his momentary vulnerability hitting him with an ugly dirty orange down his shirt. Sam responded with a massive artillery attack, covering Steve in all the paint in his tubes and stealing Steve’s tubes when his were finished.

Steve was laughing so hard he thought he might need his inhaler as when all the paint had gone from the tubes onto the two of them and he knew his face and hair were covered also.

“Aw, buddy, we’re art.” Sam said and Steve doubled over wheezing with laughter.

“Come on, hug time.” Sam carried on with an evil grin.

“No! Don’t you dare!” Steve choked through his laughter as Sam hugged him and made more paint stick to them both. As Steve struggled and Sam laughed Steve’s phone went off.

“Time out!” Steve declared and Sam released him like a good sport.

Still laughing and drenched in a spectrum of colour, Steve carefully fished his phone from his jacket pocket and held it close to his ear, trying not to get too much paint on it but in fairness it was already pretty much covered.

“Hello?”

“ _He’s here! Bucky, your Bucky, here’s here at the gallery! And tell Sam Sharon’s here too! Both of you get your arses here right now before you miss them. I can stall for you but you need to leave now!”_ Peggy hissed down the phone and Steve was stock still.

“Is that Peggy?” Sam asked lightly from where he was shaking the excess paint off of him like a wet dog.

“ _Steve? Put me on speakerphone and quickly I need to get back to the gallery and keep them there!”_ Peggy ordered and Steve fumbled with paint drenched hands and obeyed.

“ _Sam?_ ”

“Yes dear,” Sam answered as Steve held the phone out on speaker and Sam shot him a look at his stricken expression.

“ _Alright, boys, Sharon and Bucky are at the gallery and you have all of five minutes to get here because I can’t keep them here forever. This is a two birds one stone scenario and I will not see it go to waste! Get here, now.”_ Peggy’s tone was not to be mistaken, she was on a mission and if they didn’t show up she’d be furious. She promptly hung up before any questions could be asked.

“Sharon’s there,” Sam sounded nervous.

“And Bucky.” Steve sounded more nervous.

“We are covered in paint,” Steve observed.

“Yes we are, come on.” Sam’s face was set in a determined expression and he grabbed Steve’s arm to drag them both out of the apartment.

The gallery was a ten minute walk from their apartment so a five minute run but Steve couldn’t keep up a run consistently and they had to keep stopping to let him catch his breath.

/////

Peggy was pacing by the door, doing her best to look quietly intimidating so people wouldn’t leave and thus far it had worked but she could see this Bucky character was restless and uncomfortable now and kept talking to Howard, no doubt asking if he could leave. Probably because I gave him a death grip, Peggy thought to herself bitterly, cursing herself for reacting so obviously weird. Sharon was safely glancing around the pieces, happily observing them, probably staying as long as possible in support of her cousin.

She was thirty seconds away from ringing the boys again to ask them where the hell they were when she heard the tell-tale sounds of feet hitting the pavement outside.

Turning around to usher them inside she yelped loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the gallery when two multi-colour monstrosities tripped over themselves to stop in front of her. Only the trained eye could know it was Steve and Sam.

“What is wrong with you?! So help me God if you two have had another paint fight in the apartment!” Peggy announced, louder than she intended.

“Is that Sam?”

“Is that Steve?”

Bucky and Sharon spoke at once from different sides of the gallery and both began walking to the doors. Peggy noticed the attention and grabbed both men by the colour and dragged them back outside and out of view and earshot.

Bucky and Sharon came out of the front entrance and around the corner in the middle of Peggy’s tirade. Sharon walked directly around the corner but Bucky stayed out of sight, for some reason not ready to face Steve yet and not wanting to come between Peggy and what made her angry. Sharon was family; he didn’t have the same protection. Seeing Steve and this other guy both covered in paint did pique the thought in Bucky’s mind that maybe they were an item and he was calling what he was doing surveillance rather than cowardly spying.

Steve and Sam were standing with their backs to her, lined up against the wall, the way she made them stand when they’d done something to infuriate her and she ‘can’t even look at you!’. The two would argue that they weren’t to be treated like children except every time she was this mad it was usually because they’d been really childish so they bore their punishment admirably.

“You do not show up to a gallery _as_ the art! It’s unbelievable! I give you one simple task! And don’t think for a second that you’re not both scrubbing the walls of the apartment—”

“Peggy,” Sharon’s voice made Peggy turn and Sam turned slowly leaving just Steve facing the wall.

“You mind if I take prisoner A over here for a sec?” Sharon gestured to Sam who looked like she’d just saved his life. Peggy huffed loudly.

“Please be my guest, beat him into shape.” Though she was furious, her play did fall perfectly into her plan to get Sam and Sharon to talk more after their almost romance during the summer. The two walked away down the street and as soon as they were out of earshot Steve risked turning to face his parole officer.

“Pegs, I’m really sorry, Sam was just trying to cheer me up,” Steve tried.

“Why paint? It has to be paint with you miscreants; honestly I don’t know why I put up with it! And you have to talk to Bucky like this!” Peggy cried and Bucky risked leaning around the corner a little at his name being mentioned.

“I don’t think I can talk to him like this. Besides, what is there even to say?” Steve sighed, the conviction from earlier in the week having worn away.

“What do you mean? You’ve been trying to find him all week!” A heavy feeling of guilt settled in Bucky’s gut and an apprehension for something unknown coiled through him like electricity at the idea of Steve seeking him out.

“Exactly! He’s fine, isn’t he? And he clearly doesn’t want to see me.”

“You don’t know that, Steve. You clearly had something to say to him! You said yourself you don’t want to lose him,”

Bucky’s heart stuttered a little.

“Of course not, he’s my best friend,”

Bucky swallowed air.

“Then say what you need to say!” Peggy’s frustration was evident.

“He thinks that I think he’s some kind of freak or something!” Steve yelled and Bucky chose his moment.

“Pretty much, yeah.” He rounded the corner, hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Steve made a noise they all chose not to identify and Peggy nodded as if to say ‘finally’ and stormed back around the corner to the gallery, leaving the two of them, one paint covered, on the side of the road. Steve looked ready to run into traffic, a hilarious look when mixed with purple and angry yellow and damn if his eyes weren’t burning. Before he could speak Bucky stopped him.

“I’m really sorry I avoided you.” Bucky said, happy with how even his voice was. Steve’s mouth snapped shut at that. He had a sudden determination to fix things and not hide from them. If Steve could show up like a palette reject then Bucky could swallow his instincts and repair what he’d broken, ignoring anything deeper that wanted to be said.

“I had a weird moment of something, of nothing, at the library,” He missed Steve’s wince.

“It was all adrenaline and probably some carbon monoxide too,” He laughed hurriedly and Steve smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry I put you in a weird position and it was totally me being weird but I don’t want us to lose touch just after we find each other again – especially because of something as dumb as this, so, well if you could forgive and forget super quick then we can start over,” He smiled softly and Steve was hyper aware that his best friend, the man he may or may not have extreme and inappropriate feelings for was standing and asking for the forgiveness of a paint splatter personified. The dash of blue streaked along his chin moved as the red on his lips cracked when he smiled and Bucky was mesmerised.

“Consider it forgotten.” And just like that they were Bucky&Steve again.

“You got any explanation for, well, this magic,” Bucky gestured to Steve’s entire person and purple hid his blush as he rubbed his neck with a laugh.

“Paint fight with Sam.” He explained.

“Right. Sam?” Bucky asked nonchalantly.

“My roommate, along with Peggy, who you met,” Steve was becoming very familiar with intense embarrassment and the sting of it took him back to all his memories when he saw Bucky stood next to him and found himself utterly underwhelming in comparison. It was both mortifying and oddly homely. Granted, he wasn’t usually doused in paint but whatever, semantics.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head and something in his smile was fond and it made Steve’s chest feel like he was running again.

“Do you want to grab a beer or something, catch up?” Bucky offered and Steve nearly said yes.

“Well, I need to, um, shower and get this off,” He looked down at his sodden state, picking at his clothes.

“Oh, okay, right,” Bucky sounded disappointed for a second.

“So after that then,” Steve looked up and revelled in Bucky’s easy smile. He really wanted them to hang out, to talk, to be friends again properly.

“Yeah, sure,”

“If you put your number in my phone we can avoid any more awkwardness,” Bucky passed his phone to Steve who tried not to cover Bucky’s phone in paint as he typed his number into his contacts, wondering why Bucky hadn’t just asked for his number to avoid the mess. He passed it back apologetically and Bucky laughed at the rainbow coloured hand print phone case he was now sporting.

“Very artsy, I like it,” He laughed miraculously.

“See you later then, yeah?” He seemed to be actually asking and it took Steve a second to catch up.

“Right, yeah, that’s my number so, yes,” Wow, way to make it sound like you just gave him a fake number, Steve thought to himself bitterly.

“Well, good.” Bucky smiled with some confusion but went to leave.

“Oh, Buck?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Bucky turned back to face him patiently.

“Thanks and sorry about all of the weirdness.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, punk.” He smirked and Steve rolled his eyes.

“You don’t want a hug then?” Steve smirked, mimicking Sam’s earlier movements and Bucky backed up warily.

“This jacket’s expensive!”

“You saying I’m cheap, Buck,” Steve joked inching closer with a maniacal smile.

“I haven’t even taken you out yet and you’re all over me, a guy’s gonna’ draw certain conclusions, Steve,” Bucky grinned as he stepped backwards.

“Jerk!” Steve laughed when he jumped forwards and Bucky stumbled back.

“I’ll call you later when you’re not so bright, you’re hurting my eyes.” Bucky gave a quick wave as he walked out of sight and Steve fell back against the wall, smile still achingly present. He’d missed this. He enjoyed it. He enjoyed it a dangerous amount.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is hectic but that's kind of what I was going for and now I can have some real plot kick in. Also what do people think of Peggy/Howard, I'm up for suggestions though I already have some ideas. Comments and kudos are wonderful, next chapter soon!


	6. Dangerous Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is really, really tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know, before you all hurt me, I'm so sorry it's been so long! I know it probably looked like I'd given up on this story but I promise that isn't true! In fact, quite the opposite. I started university and my course is very demanding and tiring but I love it! I've been writing snippets whenever I've had a chance but I had my first assessment yesterday so this was my first chance to tie it altogether - hopefully it makes sense.  
> Little warning, there's some heavy stuff at the beginning, some upsetting terms just to let you know.  
> I'm going to try and keep some kind of update schedule now that I'm back on it - please bare with me.  
> Also comments are amazing and thank you for all the support this story has been getting - didn't expect this kind of response! Okay, done rambling - really hope you like this! (Get some insight into Bucky this chapter)  
> [also if there's a second 'end notes' bit please ignore it, I can't get rid of it]

Since the library fire, and consequent paint-museum-reunion, Steve met up with Bucky every day for the next couple of weeks. After their first beer together Steve admitted he hadn’t properly drank since his teen years. Bucky nearly sprayed his drink across the table, saying wasn’t that the point of crazy college years or at least a European getaway – which earned him a mocking scowl. They’d proceeded to drink and talk until the early hours of the morning, filling in the blanks for each other.

Bucky talked about his first fires and admitted more of how much he’d missed Steve with every beer that passed his lips. He talked about Becky and her plans to go to college and how proud he was. He talked about Nat and Clint and Howard and his team. He talked about his Mum and the house where the two of them practically grew up together and how he fixed parts of it up every time he went back.

He didn’t mention the crippling guilt he harboured every time one of his guys got hurt on the job. He didn’t mention staring at Steve’s number night after night fighting the urge to call him for far too long. He didn’t mention his brief periods of emotional detachment every time the anniversary of his Dad’s death came around.

Steve drank it in feeling happier and safer than he had in a long time. He talked about the difference between Brooklyn’s streets and Italy’s streets and how he loved them both in different ways. He talked about Raphael and Durer and Vasari and Caravaggio and the merits of chalk and graphite. He talked about how much he’d missed Bucky more than he realised. He’s pretty sure he talked about how much he loved French pancakes for over half an hour but Bucky never told him to shut up.

He didn’t mention feeling sick every time someone at college asked him when he was going home to see his folks. He didn’t mention the reams of sketches of Bucky’s hands and eyes and lips that he’d done over and over, terrified of forgetting their detail. He didn’t mention the asthma attacks or the winter sick scares or the broken bones or the fights or the tears.

Suddenly, the rose-tinted glasses were off and here they both sat, as unrealistically wonderful as they remembered. They accidentally touched hands twice, maybe a third but it might have been nothing. It was all easy again, not that either of them ever doubted each other but they expected time to have taken its toll, things change, people change. And they had. But it still worked and they somehow still fit together like the raggedy puzzle pieces they’d been as kids that only fit into each other’s worlds.

Bucky started coming over to Steve’s place more. He now went to the gym on Tuesdays with Sam and always went to see Peggy’s new exhibits, joining her in her encouragement for Steve to show his work, do a collection for show – to which he always refused and made some excuse of no theme or mismatched elements and nothing was ready.

The amazing thing was Bucky didn’t just fit right in with Steve, he just fit. He was easy-going but well disciplined making him a perfect counterpart for Sam and Peggy. He took the time to learn Steve’s schedule so he didn’t bug him when he was working but was always free for a coffee on his Thursday afternoons off. And best of all he had time for all of Steve’s whims and tangential lifestyle.

They both knew the routine of the ‘oh look a new instalment’ or ‘wow I’ve never seen this era of art up close’ as they passed somewhere and Bucky would say ‘fine just this once’ like he wouldn’t walk through every museum or gallery in Brooklyn if Steve asked nice enough. Coming up to Christmas the air was perpetually biting and Bucky joked about hearing Steve’s ribs rattle every time they went outside. Anyone else and Steve would’ve found it condescending, as if they were suggesting he wasn’t aware of the state of his own health, but he knew Bucky got scared when he got ill.

He could still remember coming round from a particularly seething fever in the Barnes’ living room when he was in his early teens with Bucky fast asleep on the chair next to him. Mrs Barnes told him Bucky had refused to move from his side since he’d taken ill. He’d remember Bucky’s broken, relieved smile and red-rimmed eyes in sunken sockets and the memory was enough to make him zip up his coat that bit more for Bucky’s sake if not his own.

Christmas was tricky for Steve. He loved it. The lights, the snow, the glow of people, all expectant. And Bucky. Bucky never lit up quite like when his face was flushed from the cold, eyes sparkling in glittering lights and smile as warm as the fire they’d be huddled around. After Steve’s Mother passed away, Christmas became a time of mourning and each new Christmas marked another year of her absence and he was left to dwell on how that could be. And feel guilty on how he could keep living when she wasn’t. Bucky and the Barnes family had rekindled a sense of love and excitement for the season. Giving him gifts he couldn’t return and letting him help in the kitchen and around the house as his personal thank you. He was invited to every meal, outing and family get together, because that’s what he was to them – family.

It had always been enough to make his overworked heart beat that much harder. Christmas mornings meant smiling so hard his face hurt and his eyes stung and prickled until Mrs Barnes enveloped him in a hug that meant welcome and I’m sorry all in one.

College was a harsh tear from this and the first Christmas without them Steve felt like an exposed nerve. He felt at any moment someone would see him for what he really was, a fraud, who’d been masquerading as a member of someone else’s family because he hadn’t been allowed to keep his own. He tortured himself over whose fault that was and why he deserved that. That was when Sam and Peggy saved him.

Crying in the old jumper of Bucky’s he’d stowed away when he’d left was an all time low. Not just crying, clawing at his chest, ignoring his inhaler, trying to convince himself this pain was better than not feeling at all. Sam had picked him up, restored his breath, calmed his broken heart and stayed without ever being asked. Peggy had been a wave of reassurance and company and light and the two made his heart swell in a way that could only be described as family.

He hadn’t told Bucky any of this.

Bucky wasn’t stupid, he knew Steve was feeling vulnerable. Slipping back into his friendship with Bucky meant Christmas how they used to do it, which meant family at a force he hadn’t felt for years. Sam and Peggy were irrevocably his family now too, but the Barnes’ practically raised him and it would be hugs and old eyes and tears and apologies and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

He saw all this especially one day walking down the street after work together. The sun was setting and the Christmas lights were just turning on and Steve stared at them flickering, debating whether or not to light up and his eyes turned sad and his conversation stopped. He gripped the coffee in his hand and clenched his other fist in his pocket. He was thinking about the last Christmas before he left when Bucky had given him a gorgeous set of paints, a stack of his favourite chocolate, and his jumper, the one Steve was always stealing.

Steve had sat there desperate to hide his short breath that kept catching. They’d been alone in Bucky’s room that morning and Bucky had cupped his cheek for just a second too long to catch his eye and Steve’s lungs had felt heavier than before in that extended moment. And then Bucky had ruffled his hair and pretended not to notice the tears in his eyes.

“Steve?”

Steve was ripped from his reverie back to the present where he was stood stock-still on the pavement staring at string lights hung from the rivets in building after building. Bucky was looking at him with a touch of concern but mostly he looked like he understood already. He tried to throw Bucky a cavalier smile but it ended up a shaky one dropped to the ground.

“It’s okay, pal. Baby steps.” Bucky said easily and Steve looked up to see a determined smile that said ‘we’re in this together’. He nodded, not trusting his voice, but his smile returned full force when Bucky jumped, clicking his heels and offering his arm as if to skip off together.

“Really, Buck?” He laughed and took his arm anyway, feeling calmer in this proximity.

“Maybe you forgot, I’m the best caroller this side of Brooklyn,”

“No one could forget your carolling, Buck,” His tone made Bucky look at him sharply in offence and Steve barked out a laugh.

“Watch it, punk.” He narrowed his eyes with a smirk and dragged Steve into an unruly skip.

Bucky was glaring at the two cups of coffee, trying to remember which one he’d already put sugar in and why they were so mockingly similar. The late shifts were starting to catch up to him. He’d met Steve for breakfast, caught up with paperwork all day and was on his fourth night shift in a row at the station. It had been over 48 hours since he’d slept at all and that had been brief and unsatisfying sleep at best.

Dum Dum walked in as he dumped a heaped teaspoon into an already sugared coffee and laughed at Bucky’s grim expression.

“Glaring at it won’t make it taste any better, boss.” He chuckled, grabbing the one that looked safer. Bucky took a sip of his own drink and winced.

“So I see,” He coughed, frowning harder.

“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” Dum Dum leant against the counter, looking as well-rested as ever, infuriatingly, despite being on the same shifts as Bucky.

“Just tired.” He mumbled into coffee and a grimace. Dum Dum’s snort made him look over.

“Right.”

“What? That not a good enough reason for you, Dugan?” Bucky snapped. Dum Dum’s smirk only widened a little – he was frustratingly immune to ‘foul mood Barnes’.

“I guess. Just..”

“Just what?” Bucky huffed and Dum Dum sighed theatrically.

“Well, I just reckon you’d be less tired if you actually slept through the mornings like we’re meant to rather than follow a ten hour night shift with breakfast with Steve.” He finished pointedly with a smile that was uncharacteristically devious.

“Who’ve you been talking to, Dugan?” Bucky growled, eyeing his co-worker angrily. Dum Dum just shrugged.

“Look when I make plans I stick to them, alright?” Bucky bit out.

“Sure, I can understand that.” The smile was still in place and it was starting to piss Bucky off.

“If you’ve got something to say, spit it out, man. If you think it’s affecting my work or something –”

“No, course’ not, boss. You’re sharp as ever, I mean that. Just never seen you miss out on sleep on lates before, for anybody. Just a bit weird that’s all.” Something in his tone was inquiring but Bucky was too tired and annoyed to decipher the words behind the words, too damn tired.

“Nothing weird about being hungry after a ten hour shift, Dugan.” Bucky said waspishly, eyes narrowed. Dum Dum sipped his sour coffee diplomatically, wisely choosing to say nothing further.

“I’ve got paperwork,” Bucky mumbled before quickly leaving the small station kitchen and an unfamiliarly curious Dum Dum, feeling decidedly more frustrated than when he entered the kitchen.

Reaching the elevator he ran into Falsworth who pushed the button to bring it to their level. The building was old and the elevator was slow but there was no way Bucky was walking up three flights of stairs with a coffee.

“Hey, boss, I was meaning to ask who you were bringing to the Stately Ball,” Falsworth asked conversationally and Bucky frowned, confused.

“To the what?”

“The Stately Ball.” Falsworth repeated and met with Bucky’s blank face he laughed and went on.

“You should read your memos more. Stately Ball, Chancellor Devon’s address, most important event of the year, ring any bells?” The thought of a big ball packed with pretentious officials, overly long speeches and forced smiles with dull politicians was definitively repellent to Bucky.

“Is it mandatory?” Bucky asked immediately and Falsworth looked at him like he’d gone mad.

“Our station’s getting a special mention award for the library fire, and the others with bombs from the Chancellor himself. So yeah, it’s pretty damn compulsory that we’re there, especially the squad leader.”

“Right.” The elevator doors opened and the two men stepped in, the metal groaning in complaint under their feet and Bucky pressed the floor button.

“So you didn’t answer my question, boss.”

“Which was what?”

“Who you’re bringing – it’s kind of expected that we all bring a date to fill the numbers and dance partners apparently.” His tone was casual but his eyes were trained on Bucky’s face and he felt distinctly examined as the walls shook a little in the slow moving elevator. The words ‘dance partners’ were ringing around his head and he nearly groaned in despair at the thought of learning to properly dance for a formal event.

“Uh, well, I don’t know, guess I’ll have to find someone,” He already wanted to pull his teeth out.

“No one springs to mind?” Falsworth pushed.

“Should someone?” Bucky was confused and more suspicious by the second.

“Just thought you might have a special someone.”

“And what would make you think that exactly?”

“Oh, nothing in particular, just heresay.”  Falsworth brushed off but that caught Bucky’s attention.

“Have you been talking to Dugan?”

“It’s just gossip, boss. I wouldn’t let it bother you.”

“Let what bother me? Do you guys do nothing but talk about people’s love lives all day?” He’d meant it to sound cool and nonchalant but it came out alarmed and irate and Falsworth raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Just the big ball coming up, got us all romantic in the break room,” He joked and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yeah well, I’ll leave the romance to you lot, seems you’re more clued in than me, probably already got a date for me and all,”

“If you’re okay with it, we do have some ideas, one in particular actually.” Falsworth pounced and Bucky’s head snapped up sharply.

“Wait, what–”

“If you’re too shy that’s all, we can sort you out a date, didn’t want you all lonely when we’ve all got dates already,” Falsworth was talking in plural and smiling like this was all going to according to plan and Bucky felt like he’d just fallen into a well-placed trap set out for him.

“Listen, you tell the boys I don’t need help getting a date and stop your weird little love meetings, okay?” With that the elevator doors opened and Bucky left sharpish to escape the clutches of the squad’s love patrol mission or whatever the set up was.

“You know what I read in one of my student’s papers today?” Steve called from Bucky’s sofa as Bucky searched for forks in the adjoining kitchen in his apartment so the two could eat the leftover takeout food from the fridge. After Bucky’s long shifts he never ate properly and that was how he liked it – it was a reward for being exhausted for so long. Steve had promised not to interfere with his unhealthy process but said he’d come over to keep him company and mark some work.

“No, what?” Bucky passed him a fork and slumped down next to him on Clint’s usual sleeping place. He had been incredibly polite considering it was his first visit to Bucky’s apartment and had pointedly not said a word about the mess or the lack of people. Steve shifted the books to the other side of him so he could balance his food in his lap and read from the student’s paper.

“One line – it really stuck with me. They were talking about the credit of emotional investment which is fairly common for students in this module but she wrote, ‘Regardless of previous grievance, obstacle or misunderstanding – you can always fall in love again.’” Steve paused for a moment, staring at the words and missed the awkward gulp from Bucky as his sleep-deprived mind instantly went into overdrive.

“I don’t know what it was but I was staring at those words today for like an hour, just thinking about them. Because maybe she just stumbled onto it, but what I took from it was this amazing idea that love in something, someone, could be rekindled, found again and this idea of love, or the artistic sense of it anyway, that love goes from cause to effect, A to B is incorrect, which is something I’ve always had a problem with. Instead it’s more likely to be fluid and complex and intricate and... unchartable which makes an artist’s job that much more risky as they’re trying to capture this concept of something so... so opaque.” Steve’s slight frown of thought was in place and Bucky was captivated, clinging to the words and trying his damned hardest to hear nothing but them, and not to allow his mind to wander to anything that would make him see promise in those words where there was none.

“But that’s just it, that’s what makes it so interesting, there’s no limit to an artist’s use of a canvas I guess, if they’re willing to take risks it can pay off in a way that no other medium can really make sense of. ‘You can always fall in love again’ – It’s like a cliff-hanger but in the best way. No, it’s, maybe like an endless ellipses, or, no, that’s dumb, I just mean...” Bucky laughed at his floundering friend and was rewarded with a grin from Steve.

“I can’t explain it. It just struck me, you know?” Steve leaned back as he spoke looking intently at Bucky who could only nod, exerting all his little-remaining energy on not saying something stupid, not ruining one of these moments.

“It kind of reminded me of something I read too, but, I don’t know I read too much,” Steve shrugged with a small blush creeping up his cheeks with piqued Bucky’s interest.

“What?” He prodded and Steve’s eyes fell to the forgotten food on his lap and he picked at it with his fork with a sheepish smile.

“It’s probably stupid but, it was in some dumb romance novel which I only read because it took place in these Roman galleries so my friend recommended it to me, don’t laugh.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Bucky who smirked but held up his hands to indicate he’d behave himself.

“Okay, so these two characters naturally are in love but obviously various things come between them and they meet somewhere and one of them says something like ‘our love is done’ or finished or something like that, it wasn’t worded that well but you get it. And the other one, he says something like ‘I’ll never have had enough of your love, I’ll never be finished loving you.’” He paused and his eyes stayed on his food and something in the air was heavy and Bucky wondered how Steve could ever have contemplated that he would laugh whilst that look was on his face.

It was one of those moments in which you knew someone had shared something intimate and personal – like a page of a diary, a favourite photograph of a loved one, a song they had fallen in love with and suddenly Bucky felt like an intruder. He daren’t speak in fear that Steve would remember he wasn’t alone and be furious that someone as unworthy as Bucky had been allowed to see something so private.

“Buck, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bucky refocused and there was Steve’s smile, directed at him, for him personally. And he relaxed.

“No, just tired. But that’s pretty deep stuff, Stevie. Maybe you should write?” He offered and Steve blushed but didn’t look away this time.

“Sure and you should start a band,” Steve teased and Bucky glared at him without menace and it quickly melted into a laugh.

“I mean it, Steve. You’re real pretty with words, you know that?” Bucky smiled and then let his attention stray immediately to his food. Steve was pretending that his heart wasn’t beating harder than usual, and that he wasn’t committing those words to memory for later study.

The two ate in silence for a while before a thought popped into Bucky’s head. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have mentioned it, but without sleep and the feeling that his head was filled with cotton wool made his judgement slip slightly.

“Hey, have you heard about this Stately Ball thing?”

“Sure, it’s being held at County Hall and apparently they’re doing a viewing of a private renaissance collection, one of the sponsors is a big art guy apparently,” Steve chatted, noting an errant comment on a students work before eating another piece of chicken. Then his head snapped up.

“Wait, you’re not going are you?”

“Well, yeah, after the library fire, and I’m squad leader so,” He shrugged and inwardly wondered what possessed him to bring this up.

“Oh Buck, I’m jealous, the art you’re going to see!” Steve made a noise of amused frustration before shaking his head and going back to his work.

This would be the perfect time to ask him. The thought was jarring to Bucky who had the question lingering in the back of his throat as his eyes were stinging slightly with the intensity that he was staring at his dinner. This would be the perfect time. He clearly wants to go and you have a perfect excuse to take him because he wants to see the artwork, the rest can come later. It was like Natasha was giving him a mental pep talk and he was too tired and had worked himself into a silent panic. He had to say something. He was going to say something he could feel it. But it couldn’t be that and he had no idea what it would be.

“I can’t dance.” He blurted out and his eyes somehow widened further. Steve looked over with a kind smile.

“Oh... did you want me to teach you?” Bucky’s head snapped up now and the distinct feeling of being in too deep swallowed him up and he just nodded.

“Okay, sure, I’ll teach you the basics, it’s not too hard to pick up.” He went back to his food and Bucky went back to his panic.

How had this happened? He could barely control himself in a conversation how were intimate dance lessons supposed to help? If he were alone he would be smacking his head repeatedly against a wall. Steve was blissfully unaware of Bucky’s panic and was feeling pleased that Bucky had come to him for dance lessons and not elsewhere. He shifted his food and books onto the floor and wiped his hands on his trousers.

“You know we can start now.” Steve said calmly and Bucky choked.

“We don’t have to start now.” He said far too quickly and Steve’s face fell just a fraction. _Well shit_ , Bucky thought to himself.

“We could... start right now. I just meant if you were busy, that’s all.” He corrected with effort and Steve laughed at Bucky being strange and chalked it up to his being embarrassed of not knowing how to dance.

“Come on, Buck.” He held out a hand and Bucky allowed himself to be dragged up from the safety of the sofa and Chinese food.

“See we’re perfect heights to practice with,” Steve joked and Bucky laughed, inwardly hysterical at the words ‘we’re perfect’ being used in consequence. This was ridiculous, he needed to get a grip.

“Right, I assume you know where to put your hands,” Steve shot a cheeky grin upwards to his friend and Bucky’s fairly certain he blacked out for a moment. _I just need more sleep, I just need more sleep, I just need more sleep._ His mantra was completely defective as he placed one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other dipped to gently lay on his hip and Steve did the same, though his hands felt far more sure than Bucky’s.

“Right, so, we’ll start easy. Just one step forwards, one step back, okay?” Steve’s inner-teacher was revelling in this new environment. Bucky nodded, frowning deeply in concentration and Steve bit his lip trying not to laugh at his endearing friend.

As Steve stepped back with his left foot, Bucky moved to follow him with the wrong foot and stomped on Steve’s right foot. As they both instinctively moved to look down at their feet their heads collided with some force. And they would later joke that this was because Bucky’s skull was thicker than Steve’s but Steve was knocked backwards by the hit. Also without thinking Bucky moved quickly to grab Steve, much as he had done by the ambulance when they’d first seen each other again. The ridiculous thought that what Howard wouldn’t give to get a picture of this crossed his mind before he actually took in what was happening.

Steve’s smile was loose and his eyes were glazed but he looked brimming with happiness from where he was being held just half a metre from the ground. Bucky didn’t notice how firmly his arms were holding Steve but he did notice how close their faces were and he felt his face turn scarlet. Steve laughed in a daze.

“Well, we’ve got the dip down.” He chuckled and Bucky let out a gust of air in a heavy laugh as he pulled Steve back up to standing.

“Yeah, I sure nailed that one,” He said absent-mindedly and he checked on Steve, who’s eyes were still unfocused.

“Surely, I can’t have given you a concussion just from my head hitting yours,” He mocked and Steve laughed loudly and let his head come forward and rest on Bucky’ chest, his arms still gripping Bucky’s shoulders. He continued to laugh lightly, dizzily and Bucky felt dizzy in an entirely different way with his friend burying his head against his chest. They’d hugged before, but this was different, foreign ground. A loud caution warning rang out from somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind and he shakily pulled himself away, sitting Steve down gently who was still not completely stable yet.

The heaviness in Bucky’s chest refused to budge. At some point he’d have to deal with what he was feeling but, not yet. He could selfishly live with these small glimpses of something he wasn't ready to label yet for a while more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like comments..


	7. Sleep Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky can't sleep. Steve tries to help. In the end he's less helpful than he realises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm drowning in assessments. I listened to Rueben Hudson's cover of Adele's 'Set Fire to the Rain' on repeat and wrote this chapter in one. Sorry for any mistakes - it's late. I hope you like this. I'm exhausted and so is Bucky. I hope to update soon, sorry to make you wait. Comments make me happy and kudos are lovely. Also I know this chapter is a bit heavy, felt like a bit of Bucky insight was in order. But yeah, hope you enjoy.

_“Buddy, you gotta’ take good care of your Mum and your sister and little Steve, can you do that until I get back?” His voice was drowned in the muffled sobs that echoed somewhere in his mind’s periphery._

_“Can you take care of everyone, son?” That was the last time he heard his Father call him son. Maybe he’d nodded then, he just remembered the sting of tears and his fists in balls._

_A noise was threatening his concentration but it had been so long since he’d seen the fuzzy, dog-eared memory of his Father’s wilting smile and he needed to focus. He needed to say something now before he couldn’t. But his Father was smiling at him like he was proud and like he’d be back and he foolishly believed, he believed there weren’t terrible forces in the world or impending pain._

_He believed his Father’s invincibility and that he’d never scream at photographs or see his Mother crumple like a discarded letter on the wind. He believed back then like a childish fool._

_“Can you take care of everyone, son?” His smile was gone now and the light in his eyes Bucky had always followed had vanished. His throat was tight and he still couldn’t speak. He was nodding so hard his neck hurt and he wanted to yell to move to do something, anything, why couldn’t he move?_

_His head hurt, the familiar hallway that once meant running into the arms of the man who came to the door at 6 o’clock now meant sitting on steps for hours because ‘he’ll be back tonight, he will’. It was dark and his Father’s shadow was growing until it engulfed him and Bucky’s eyes were begging to be closed because then this wouldn’t be happening, if he just didn’t watch._

_“Can you take care of everyone, son?” It sounded like a threat now, a sadistic knife edge mocking him before it sank into its target. The lilt in his Father’s jovial tone was gone, it was a whisper from an artificial darkness now and it sent ice to his fingertips._

_Now he’s sinking into the ground, swallowed up by the sickly burgundy carpet, his limbs immobilised not that they were responding to him anymore. The door’s opening and someone is leaving and they’re sucking out the air with them._

_“Can you take care of everyone, son?” It sounds like a plea now from a broken man, begging for salvation and Bucky opens his mouth to scream, desperately fighting the engulfing ground to reach out to him, to pull him back._

_And then the door slams and the floor lets go and the hallways disappears from his reach altogether and he’s falling. He’s going to land soon. He’s going to die. He didn’t reach out in time. He’s going to die._

_“Can you take care of everyone, son?” He’s going to die._

Bucky jolts back into consciousness, choking on the air he’s gasping. He’s sweaty and the blankets have been kicked onto the floor. It’d been a while since he’d dreamt about his Dad and the images and words are still sending him reeling as he stares, teeth clenched, at the ceiling.

He feels sick and it’s nothing he hasn’t felt before but something about tonight fills him with a hopelessness that is threatening to swallow him up like the ground in his nightmare.

“Can you take care of everyone, son?” Those words have haunted him for years.

He thinks about Falsworth and Gabe and everyone else who’s ever got hurt on a job under his authority. He thinks about his Mum and how his heart seems to get smaller when she cries. He thinks about his sister and the way she draws, the way her eyes go sad whenever she draws the same piece of their Father smiling. He thinks about Steve and the way his breath had abandoned him and the way he desperately tried to force it back to him.

He growls and swipes a shaky hand over his damp face. He glances over at the clock and its smile reads 3:25 am and he groans, dreading his shift on a shitty night’s sleep. He eyes his phone on the side and decides fuck it, grabbing it and typing out a messy text to Steve. It’s vague and short and unassuming enough that he can deny anything serious in the morning but it feels like Steve is hearing him and makes him feel marginally better in some part of his mind.

The phone ringing startles him and he scrambles for it, groaning when he sees Steve’s name and smiling caller ID staring at him, daring him not to answer. Resigning himself he places it to his ear.

“Please tell me I didn’t wake you up,”

“Is everything alright?” Steve sounds concerned and alert and it makes something in Bucky’s stomach twist. He shrugs even though he knows Steve can’t see him.

“Yeah, it’s nothing, go to sleep,” Bucky already wishes he hasn’t sent anything now Steve will want him to talk and even over the phone he’s not great at lying to him.

“Buck, come on.” A touch of finality in his voice reaches Bucky in the hopelessness that was trying to overcome him earlier and his voice fights the negative feeling down. It contradicts the feeling that Bucky has failed everyone, because here is Steve, living and breathing and flourishing and Bucky can’t have fucked up completely if he had anything to do with this. The added reassurance pushes him to speak.

“I just had a dream and it, it,” His words fail him and his mind reminds him of the little boy who couldn’t speak in the hallway and his eyes squeeze shut as he lets out a sound he’s not quite sure Steve understands but definitely hears.

“Was it about your Dad?” Steve speaks after a moment, so quiet and gentle like he’s apologising for even saying the words and Bucky’s eyes shoot open painfully and stars dance in his vision. He doesn’t bother asking how Steve knows, he just knows Bucky too well, always has. He doesn’t speak and the only sound on the line is a slight shuffling from Steve’s end.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t of asked, it’s just about that time and if you wanted to talk about it, I’m here, but, yeah, you know that,” Steve trails away and Bucky feels like shit but he still can’t speak. Why can he never say anything when he needs to.

“Sorry, Buck, I probably shouldn’t have called you, er, I’ll let you sleep.” His voice is tinged with disappointment and shame and Bucky maybe panics a little as he hears Steve go to hang up because then he’ll be left on his own with those thoughts and a whole new guilty feeling.

“No, stay,” His voice comes out strangled and he hates it but the line doesn’t go dead.

“I can’t talk about it, Steve.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Steve’s voice is kind again like nothing just happened and it kills Bucky a little to have such a good friend when he really doesn’t deserve him. He’s suddenly acutely aware that yet again Steve is comforting because of his own personal shit and it’s reinforcing all the crap he tries to ignore but the increasing feeling of inadequacy is like a tidal wave.

“Do you need anything?” The question catches him off guard and hauls him to shore like always. He’s momentarily stunned as the familiar warmth of Steve’s unwavering support drives the feeling away.

“I...” He nearly lets something slip then, though he’s not exact on what it is, it looms in the back of his throat and he swallows it down roughly.

What does he need? He lets himself slip down that rabbit hole for a second too long and his jaw stiffens as he shoves images of intimacy he’s not supposed to want away from his brain.

“A good night’s sleep, so, maybe a hit over the head with a blunt object,” And just like that he’s back. He hears Steve’s sigh and he knows what it means but neither of them comment on it. They’ve practically fallen back into their old friendship completely, gone back to knowing each other inside out and it’s both a relief and terrifying as suddenly someone can read him and pull him apart and shatter him should he want to.

“I’m bringing coffee and muffins in the morning.” Steve says and Bucky silently thanks him for not pushing anything tonight.

“Deal.”

“Alright, night then, Buck.”

“Yeah, night, Steve.” And a click and a dull tone tell him he’s alone again. Naturally.

He lets the phone drop to his side and rolls away from it. Focusing on not thinking or feeling anything because that’s where the trouble starts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky rounds the corner and finds Steve sat on the kerb by his apartment building and would have almost laughed if he hadn’t been so frustrated as he watches Steve’s tiny frame slumped over on the pavement, head lolling in between his knees.

The phone call had been confusing but to a specialist in the many languages of Steven Rogers, Bucky understood he’d gotten drunk with some work mates and lost his keys and needed to get into his apartment. As he nears his inebriated friend he sees the graze down his arm and the bruise on his face and huffs in annoyance at Steve’s recklessness.

“You didn’t say you got into a fight.” Bucky snaps, arms folded from where he’s standing and Steve’s head raises and he’s drunk enough that his grin is melty and warm and does something odd to Bucky’s insides but he’s pissed off and stubborn.

“Bucky!” He blinks at him happily and Bucky frowns.

“You didn’t say you got into a fight.” Bucky repeats a tiny bit less harsh. Steve’s face morphs into dismay at Bucky’s frown and his lower lip juts out and no, not going to work, Bucky’s got resolve of steel. He says nothing, raising an eyebrow and Steve moans a little.

“They hit the lady, Buck.” And Bucky rakes a hand through his hair.

“They,” He grits out and drunk Steve realises his mistake too late and drops his eyes to the ground, having the decency to look a little embarrassed now.

“M’ fine,”

“Sure, you’re fine, you got pissed, beat up, and lost your keys,” Bucky’s voice is hard and Steve lowers his head a little further.

“Sorry.” He sounds tired and he must be in some pain and Bucky relents with a heavy sigh. He reaches to hoist Steve up, an arm snaked around his waist to steady him. He ignores the way Steve lets his head press against his shoulder like it belongs there and the way he’s got his hand bunched up in Bucky’s shirt like he’s scared he’ll disappear at any moment.

He doesn’t miss the slight red around Steve’s eyes and the quiet sniffs like he’s just got done crying. The thought makes Bucky’s stomach turn to stone. It’s a good thing he gave Bucky a spare key after the fourth time they met up and apologised for not having done it sooner like it was a no brainer that Bucky had all-time access.  

“You wanna’ tell me what happened?”

“Men were bothering a lady so I helped,” His words and Bucky shakes his head with another sigh as he pulls Steve up the stairs more or less.

“Steve, cut the crap, would you?” Bucky knows the set of Steve’s shoulders after he protects some lady’s honour or sticks up for some poor punk in an alley and it’s always determined and unafraid and ready to defend the actions. This is different, he’s not looking Bucky in the eye and he’s muttering and sniffing and he just knows Steve’s hiding something.

“S’ nothing, just some creep,” He speaks so quietly like he hopes Bucky won’t hear though he knows in truth that of course Bucky will hear him and hit the roof. Bucky’s fumbling with Steve’s spare key, his frown deeply set as he lets them in as quietly as he can.

“S’okay Sam n’ Peggy aren’t in, got a thing,” Steve says and tries to stagger away from Bucky to the kitchen for more alcohol but Bucky grabs him quickly.

“Slow down there, cowboy. Some creep? Someone giving you trouble?” Bucky pushes and Steve looks increasingly uncomfortable and Bucky has no patience for it, backing his friend up against the wall so he can lean down and catch his eye, not even registering how close he’s coming. He’s imagining Steve’s eyes flickering to his lips, right?

“Steve.”

“Some guy who wants to work at my school, Pierce, he kept asking me questions and, and he wouldn’t, I, he asked about you but he said he didn’t know you, so I tried to leave and then, I guess that’s when I lost my keys and, those guys were there,” He’s frowning as he picks apart fuzzy recent memory.

“Wait, you know the guy? He asked about me?” Steve nods absently and Bucky doesn’t remember when Steve’s arms looped around his neck but it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“Right, buddy, let’s get you to–”

“I don’t have a soul mater, no soul mate,” Steve whines and Bucky frowns at his drunk friend. Why does Steve always get deep when he’s drunk.

“Sure you do, bud, come on.” He leads Steve to his bedroom but he’s being difficult and he plants his feet and with his arms still around Bucky’s neck he’s jerked to a stop.

“No, I don’t. Or, what, what if they were here and born in the middle ages or maybe in the future or they aren’t real and I’ve read about him and he’s there but not for me, you know, what about that,” Steve rambles and Bucky’s heart does swell a little for his worry laden friend, this is probably some weird worry he’s had in the back of his head for a while that is just now leaking out in a drunken stupor.

“Nothing’s decided, Stevie. Don’t get hung up on that soul mate stuff, you choose who you want. You could pick the first person you see and they could be perfect for you, right?” Bucky’s finally got him inside his room, now he just has to get him into bed. Steve huffs a laugh.

“Well, you’re the first person I see, Buck.” Even with the slurred roll of his tongue his glazed eyes are piercing the dark and Bucky’s mouth goes dry as he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, not exactly what I meant, buddy,” Bucky notes distractedly as he looks for Steve’s pyjamas. It’s this distraction that means he doesn’t pull away sharply as Steve falls against Bucky’s chest, smiling up at him and Bucky’s feeling a little warm now and needs some distance between them before he goes crazy.

He quickly sets Steve down on the bed and pulls him upright when he tries to lie down.

“Just stay there for one minute, okay, pal?” He doesn’t wait for a response as he goes to get the medical kit from on top of the fridge in Steve’s kitchen. Whilst he’s there he grabs a glass of water and some paracetamol to leave on Steve’s bedside table for his inevitable hangover. Steve is sitting slightly tilted when Bucky returns and he gently pulls him up properly.

“Buck, wanna’ sleep,” His words are heavier now and Bucky smiles just a fraction at how cute Steve looks in this moment. The thought is like a bucket of cold water being dumped over his head and he quickly shoves it away.

“I know, I’m just gonna’ get you cleaned up quick,” He replies, carefully disinfecting Steve’s arm, mumbling an apology when he winces he then bandages it, more so Steve doesn’t scratch at it in the night. He gets some ice for Steve’s face but it’s not too swollen and so he relents when Steve pushes it away.

“You’re the only one I see, Buck,” Steve slurs and Bucky nods as he picks through Steve’s drawers for a shirt he can wear to bed at the absence of pyjamas.

“Yeah, well, I’m the only one here, buddy,” And Steve laughs and it’s distorted but gentle and he’s exhausted Bucky can tell.

“Buck,” Steve whines and the sound heads directly south for Bucky which catches him off guard and he gulps quickly, focusing on grabbing an old t-shirt and not the thoughts that fly into his mind at that sound.

“Yeah, I’m coming. Here put this on, okay?” Bucky goes to offer Steve the shirt and Steve just raises his arms, his eyes are closed and it does nothing to ease Bucky’s nerves. He’s undressed Steve a hundred times, but it’s always when he’s been sick or in too bad of a way to do it himself. This feels slightly more. It shouldn’t. They’re friends, this is fairly normal, isn’t it? Friends help each other out when they’re drunk don’t they?

He laughs a little when he realises Steve’s got a button-down shirt on so he doesn’t actually need to raise his arms and he pulls them down gently and doesn’t say anything when Steve rests his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. He’s fairly certain Steve isn’t going to remember any of this in the morning anyway.

He tries to be quick and uninvolved as he undoes the buttons to Steve’s shirt but in the dark with Steve sporting a sleepy smile and his eyes are closed and he’s so close but thank God those blue eyes aren’t focused on him because then Bucky might just lose his damn nerve. When all the buttons are undone and Steve looks unfairly good with an open shirt and Bucky tries so hard not to stare at the stretch of his collarbone that looks more inviting than it has any right too.

He slips the shirt from Steve’s shoulders and hurries to get the baggy t-shirt over Steve’s head before he can get caught up in all the bare skin he’s seeing. It’s only when he’s gently tugged Steve’s arms in that he realises it’s one of his t-shirts. It’s an old and faded patterned shirt and it’s well-worn. A smile tugs at his lips at the thought of Steve using his clothes and he comes back to himself and takes a moment to squeeze his eyes shut again, shake his head to the floor and then continue to focus on Steve.

It’s then that he meets Steve’s open eyes and yeah, he was right to be thankful they hadn’t been open again. But then again he can’t quite wish away that stare and he smiles reassuringly and Steve’s returning smile is bashful and full of trust without a single qualm to what Bucky’s doing. The acrobatics in Bucky’s stomach kicked in gear and he let out a shaky breath before pushing Steve gently onto his back and stops awkwardly, glued in place by Steve’s eyes as he leans over him.

Steve’s arms around his neck and his look are different now, he looks almost expectant and there’s a glint in his eye that is unknown and it sends an odd feeling shooting down Bucky’s spine and he reaches up and carefully pulls Steve’s arms down and to his sides. He catches the flash of open disappointment and confusion on Steve’s face and dismisses it as drunkenness.

He’s been putting off dealing with Steve’s jeans, he knows he can’t leave them. Friends don’t let friends sleep in jeans. He finds the catch on Steve’s belt difficult in the dark and tugs at it pulling Steve’s hips with it, his eyes go a little wider with the pleased noise Steve lets out. He deliberately doesn’t look up to see what Steve’s face looks like, that masochism will come in a minute.

He finally gets the belt off and for some reason indulges himself a little, slowly unbuttoning the top and sliding the zip down with more pressure than necessary and the little whine he earns from Steve is both torturous and perfect and he feels kind of awful about it. He doesn’t want to take advantage of Steve in this state and he pulls Steve’s jeans off in one swift movement and pushes up and off of the bed, throwing the jeans onto a chair by the window. By the sounds of it he might have missed but hey, it’s dark and he’s not exactly fully focused here.

Looking back, his eyes even more adjusted to the dark he sees Steve stretched out in just his boxers and Bucky’s over sized t shirt which has risen up a little and his hip is on show and it’s brought Bucky to a physical stand still. Where are those lightning firefighter reflexes now?

Steve shivering prompts him to move at last. He pulls the cover over his friend and before he can turn away Steve’s fingers are tangled in his and his eyes are open again and soft. He pulls on Bucky’s hand and Bucky moves towards him, helpless to Steve’s pull as usual.

“You alright, Stevie?” He whispers and he hears the nerves in his voice. Steve doesn’t seem to notice.

“Come here, Bucky,” Steve is whining again and it’s really doing things to Bucky’s insides and now is really not the time for these thoughts but at some point he leans over Steve again and his hands are pressed into the mattress either side of Steve, trapping him. He’s transfixed as Steve traces the line of his jaw.

“Steve..” The word is a delicate warning and were Steve sober he would’ve heard everything it was filled with but drunk Steve isn’t half as observant and the most the word seems to do is draw Steve’s attention to his mouth. He frowns at it like it’s too far away to understand and Bucky desperately ignores the urge to bring it within reach. Not helpful. He’s the sober one here, he needs to take control of the situation and leave Steve to sleep and sober up and forget Bucky ever lingered in painful indecision.

“You take good care of me, Buck,” Steve is smiling a little and it’s the sort of thing that Bucky laps up like it’s air, it’s confirmation that he’s needed and it’s all too easy to nod and lean in a little more.

He needs to be responsible but it’s so difficult with Steve’s breath ghosting over his mouth and his eyes burning into him and somewhere along the line, Steve’s hands went into his hair and he can’t find the strength to fight him off when it feels like this. He tries to take Steve’s approach but it all feels more intimate and just _more_ now, like this.

“Do.. Do you need anything?” The phrase is so very Steve and Bucky’s nervousness at taking this tact is lost on Steve. His eyes seem to gain a touch of intensity and damn they’re really close. Somewhere Bucky knows he should pull away, he should’ve pulled away a while ago now, he should have left already but everything is a little too present to ignore and looking down on Steve like this is something he’s thought about more than he’d care to admit.

Even so, his resolve does steel a little when he thinks of Steve waking up and maybe remembering Bucky taking advantage of him when he’s drunk. Steve’s 95% moral compass and Bucky would hate to see the disappointment or disgust or worse. He’s made up his mind and ripping himself away is painful but necessary. He stands and the cold air is a blessing and it’s like it’s congratulating him on not being a totally terrible person.

He turns and begins to walk away, the thoughts too loud buzzing in his head to hear Steve shifting in the bed as he gets up and stumbles to reach Bucky in the dark room.

Bucky feels Steve tugging with surprising strength at his arm and he turns as his neck is pulled down by an insistent hand and suddenly lips are on his and something else takes over as he responds whole-heartedly. His hands instinctively find Steve, one against Steve’s neck the other pulling their hips together as they kiss and it’s different to the time at the fire, it’s not desperate, it’s fiery and with some kind of purpose that both feel but can’t identify.

He’s already too far down the rabbit-hole to pull out this time and it’s awful and he hates himself for it but he somewhere acknowledges that what’s a few more moments of blissful could-be before he has to face the consequences, does he not deserve this moment of selfish something before he has to tear himself away.

Steve is pulling him backwards, one hand bunched in his shirt like earlier, the other in his hair, pulling and tugging at it and it’s doing unlawful things to Bucky and his knees want to buckle at the pleasure coursing through him. The kiss is less messy this time, it’s deliberate, like they’re trying to prove how good this can be to each other before they both ruin this with reason and logic and everything else awful. Steve’s lips are so soft and when he pushes against Bucky’s with something demanding and he lets out a sound of pure want it’s just magic.

Steve pulls at Bucky’s hair and his shirt as he falls back onto the bed and Bucky can do nothing but stay wrapped up in Steve’s lips and he can feel heat building in him as he’s on top of Steve again, properly this time. Steve grinds his hips up and Bucky’s mind falters at the pleasure that runs like electricity through his veins. This is so much better than any failed relationship or one night stand Bucky’s had and were he thinking straight he’d remember there’s a reason they didn’t work and there’s a reason this feels so good but he’s not and this feels too good to question.

Bucky nearly loses his mind when Steve traces his tongue over his lower lip and he groans when Steve starts to really explore. The sound seems to spark something in Steve whose enthusiasm is renewed and if he doesn’t stop doing that with his hips Bucky doesn’t know what he’ll do. When Steve’s legs hook over Bucky’s waist he lets out a small whine of pleasure because this is perfect. He wants to scream it, this is fucking perfection and Steve is fucking perfect. Does he even know? 

He tears his lips from Steve’s and trails his lips over his jaw and presses heated kisses down his neck and Steve moans loudly and the sound is heaven and Bucky has no right to it but it’s perfect and he takes it anyway. He pauses for a second too long looking at Steve’s gorgeous collarbone.

“Bucky?” Steve’s breathless and still slurring. Looking up, Steve’s eyes aren’t focused and he looks confused and Bucky suddenly feels sick. The desire pulsing through him now poisonous as he realises what he’s doing. What he’s done. Again.

He untangles himself and throws himself backwards onto the floor at such speed that he makes himself dizzy. He hard wood floor seems to bring him back tom himself and he dashes from the room and the apartment, remembering to lock up with shaking fingers. He can’t remember the walk back to his apartment, did he run? He suddenly finds himself in his room and everything is spinning slightly.

The scene is on a permanent repeat in his head and he rubs his hands harshly over his eyes willing away the sight of Steve’s head thrown back in a loud moan whenever he closes them. This is really bad. What’s he going to say when he next sees Steve? Or what if Steve doesn’t even want to see him now he knows Bucky’s a good-for-nothing sleaze who took advantage of him when he was drunk? He’s fucked up again but it feels irreparable now and why does he have this deja vu coursing through him.

He can’t blame adrenaline or lack of oxygen this time. It was just him and his nerves are fraying at the edges as he pictures every awful scenario that could take place once Steve confronts him.

He stays awake until the early morning as he fights with himself over what to do. At some point he falls into a fitful sleep with dreams mixed with visions of Steve’s collarbone and his eyes and some magnetic pull before Steve’s eyes turn cold and he shoves Bucky away and calls him disgusting.

He wakes up to the vibrate of his phone against and he wastes no time in grabbing it and looking at the text that both relieves and kills him a little.

‘Did you take me home last night? Can’t remember leaving the bar – if so, thanks.’

The feeling of being shattered and put back together with some effort hits Bucky like a freight train. Still, Bucky would be shattered by Steve over and over again if it means keeping him around. Shattered by Steve over and over again. A bitter piece of him decides that’s what he’d name his autobiography and he instantly feels guilty. Of course he doesn’t blame Steve, he’d never blame Steve. It’s not his fault Bucky feels like this. It’s not his fault he’s too good for Bucky.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part where I sweet talk you for comments/feedback/kudos.


	8. The Reason Money is Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Money makes things difficult and if Bucky doesn't sleep soon he's going to go mad. The boys fight and are way too touchy-feely making up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter is DOUBLE the length of a normal one because I felt bad for not updating in a while and so I kind of combined two chapters. Be warned, this is really bloody angsty but we hadn't seen them fight yet and Bucky and Steve fights are damn compelling. (all will be fine don't worry, they're both screwing up at different things in this but it will be sorted) I would really love feedback on this because I don't write these sorts of scenes a lot (or at 3am) it would be amazing to hear what you guys think!  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos already it's amazing and inspires me to write!

The holidays are bliss. Sure Steve has double his body weight, no triple, in marking of assignments and papers, and yeah maybe his supervisor is hounding him about the new curriculum that they’ve changed yet again and yes he may have accidentally kissed someone at the end of term Christmas party which he’ll have to figure out at some point – but apart from that, bliss. He has slept in every day, he eats and works at his own leisure and environment and he has time, albeit still not that much, but more than the average.

However, Steve did feel a little guilty about his new indulgent lifestyle. As he had entered the holidays, Bucky had started working overtime, taking every double late shift available because he needed the cash. Though Bucky has a work ethic of army drone and the sleep schedule of a bat on steroids even he was finding the pace difficult to keep up with, he fell asleep at lunch and Steve could hear him downing energy drinks on the phone late at night and he couldn’t help but worry a little. Bucky was never slow in as long as Steve had known him, even carefree Bucky had his eyes on the exits and shady characters in his periphery, the by-product of a youth with an army dad and Steve’s fight-prone self as a best friend.

These days, however, he was tripping over and letting his eyes glaze over and doing that thing Steve hates where he nods but is absolutely not listening but can somehow still say the right thing so he’s not caught out. He pulls himself together for work and apologises constantly to Steve and anyone else caught in his slipstream of weariness but no one could really blame him. In fact, Steve found it one of the things he admired most about Bucky and it was a constant. Bucky worked himself to the bone, it was like a law of physics and Steve knew better than to think he could change it. Didn’t mean he couldn’t nag at him a little every once in a while to rest though.

The Saturday before Christmas Steve had nothing on. Sam was visiting Sharon’s family (those two apparently were trying out going steady) and Peggy had a series of conferences around the state. They’d both be back for Christmas but for now Steve had only himself to entertain. Bucky’s shift ended at 4 in the morning so he let him sleep, it was his first day off in too long. With nothing stopping him, Steve decided now was as good a time as any to get his Christmas shopping done and going alone was always preferable anyway because Sam could keep secrets but had bad taste in gifts and Peggy had impeccable taste but died to share it with everyone so Steve learnt early to shop solo.

He took a taxi further into town than usual, into the larger shopping centre with the biggest shops, he was going to be the hardcore consumer today. He had a vague gift list for his closest friends but it was up for interpretation he decided.

  *          _Peggy – work planner, mac lipstick the weird nice burgundy one, friends box set_
  *          _Sam – Call of Duty, tickets for something couple-y with Sharon (?)_ , _custom trainers_
  *          _Tony & Bruce – science workshop coupons_
  *          _107 th Boys – Blu-Ray Player for the break room_
  *          _Bucky – Something special_



Sam and Peggy were easy customers, tried and tested, Steve knew what worked. Tony and Bruce always babbled and thanked him when he got them their coupons and after the first time he just assumed why mess with a winning formula and stuck to the same gift every year. Bucky’s team of firefighters were new but Steve had popped in enough that they were all fairly friendly and they liked to embarrass Bucky enough to try and beat cringey stories about him from Steve who never gave in (almost). However, all they could watch on their television in the break room was scratchy signal television which didn’t really relax them which was the point of the room. It was more of a gesture and Steve knew it but it didn’t hurt to win them over especially as it might make them bully Bucky a little less about the mustard incident of ’97 that he accidentally let slip about in front of the whole squad.

As he walked down aisles of the first shop he couldn’t help his eyes lingering over Bucky’s name and his infuriatingly vague note. This was a big deal. He wouldn’t let on, but this was huge. Bucky had been getting him wonderful, generous and unreciprocated gifts since they first met and now, for the first time, Steve could return the favour. He had nearly twenty years of meagre gift giving to make up for and now was the time to set a precedent, to raise the bar, no, to melt the bar down to its core metal elements and drink the molten liquid like it was milkshake. The bar was to be shattered.

A niggling voice in the back of his head told him that maybe, just maybe, if he could find something truly spectacular, he could for once feel like he truly deserved Bucky’s friendship. It was a weird pride thing and he wasn’t proud of it but this insecurity had followed him around for as long as he’d followed Bucky around. He also couldn’t help but get excited at the thought of the warm feeling that had always settled in his chest whenever he’d done something that could be classed as a ‘gift’ to Bucky before. He quietly craved the look of surprise and delight or just warmth and pure happiness that Bucky was so rarely that open with.

He made his way through the shops, he picked up Tony and Bruce’s first, always feeling accomplished with two people’s presents done off the bat. He made good progress in the clothing store that was next, getting Sam’s trainers which were emblazoned with metallic silver wings which he knew Sam would love and a locket for Peggy which wasn’t on the list but the vintage, classy feel had caught his eye as a good gift for her. He picked up Call of Duty, a friends full-season box set and the Blu-Ray player together at the electronics store before grabbing some lunch, in good spirits at how well the shopping was going.

Deciding he would order Sam’s couple activity tickets when he was at home, he was thinking something like a couple’s massage, Sam was a pretty touchy-feely guy when it came down to it and he could treat Sharon so it sounded along the right lines. It was in line to the check out in a cosmetics store with three pricey Mac lipsticks (the same colour, Peggy was quite particular) that someone tentatively tapped on his shoulder. As soon as he had turned around he heard someone exclaim, ‘It is you!’ and he was engulfed in a hug.

Bucky whined as his phone argued loudly with his pillow. His phone won. And on his day off, too, how unfair. After the bomb incidents the team had been on shifts non-stop for seemingly constant small fires, it was a statistic anomaly according to Stark but it set Bucky’s teeth on edge. Didn’t help that it turned out Izzy’s injury from a while back had actually been from an assault he hadn’t told anyone about. But after Morita was jumped in the exact same spot on the same shift Izzy had been on, he came clean, prompting a pre-emptive investigation.

Fury was all hush-hush, not wanting a mass panic but it meant all the information they were being given was being filtered and he’d been warned off digging into the bombing fires. Something was going on but no one had any idea what and Bucky felt pretty sick of being treated like a frontline foot soldier, like he was a tool, expendable and didn’t need any information just instructions. If he didn’t know key information like if his team was being targeted then he could march them into a death trap and his stress was beginning to piss him off. A day off had been his time to catch up on all the sleep he’d been missing.

 He was grumbling as he swatted away the alarm and then realised he was booked today and he couldn’t sleep all day like he’d been hoping. He ignored his 12 text messages, recognising his sister’s trademark ambush texting style and side-stepping it completely. Saturday was family dinner and he’d missed two, or maybe it was three, in a row now and his Mother was less than happy. She’d threatened more than once to march into the fire station and drag him out if she had to and only a Barnes could really know that she wasn’t joking.

It meant that he had to look smart today. And not, try and impress smart, but, Ma, I’m home, smart. He begrudgingly fished out his dress trousers and pressed white shirt that clung to his shoulders, even noosing a tie around his neck, figuring that three missed family meals probably meant he should be sucking up. For the first time in a week he did his hair, gelling it all smooth to the side, how he did it when he was being ‘fancy’, and after a shave and a wash he felt pretty good.

With his nice jacket on (he thought his normal jacket was pretty nice too but his Mother had warned that it might spontaneously combust if she found it in her home again so he refrained), he pulled his phone out to shoot Steve a quick text as he was on the Subway before his signal cut out.

12:24 – from Bucky to Steve

_What scary sized book are you reading today, teach?_

12:26 – Steve

_There’s a lot happening right now, I’m not quite sure what’s going on, you should probably gird your loins_

12:27 – from Bucky to Steve

_Wow, wanna be anymore vague and weird?? Where are you, need any help?_

12:29 – Steve

_You’ll see_

“Fuck sake,” Bucky muttered under his breath with a huffed laugh, shaking at his head at Steve’s dramatic texting. He didn’t realise how easily it could sound villainous with a sprinkling of ellipses here and there, maybe an emoji occasionally. He texted back a decent sized paragraph of question marks but didn’t get a response and Bucky decided to let it lie, if Steve needed something urgently he’d ask, and apparently ‘he’d see’ so he just put it to one side for now.

Arriving at his childhood home was surprisingly refreshing, it was escapism from whatever stress was out in the real world. Here was a world of mashed potato related drama and adrenaline only coming with the fire alarm that was inevitably set off every weekend. His standard knock (incidentally his Dad’s old knock but that was a weird, errant and kind of depressing thought to have) left a couple of seconds before his sister excitably yanked open the door and he smiled and pulled her into a tight hug. She laughed as he span her around in a full circle in the doorway, as per tradition.

“What’s new, Bec?” He said as he let her go and went to enter the house. She blocked his path with a crazed and distracted grin.

“How recent we talking?” She replied a little giddy sounding and Bucky frowned.

“Where’s the fire?” The firefighter puns usually got her to smile but the mad cackle that erupted from her was entirely unwarranted and his sixth sense was shooting to attention. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Becca, you hopped on or sugar or a convoluted plan?” He asked slowly and she jumped from foot to foot, grinning still.

“You should really read my messages, you know. And both, kind of.”

“Oh my God, let me in, you freak,” He carefully but swiftly lifted his sister up and out of his path before she could protest. However, as he walked down the hallway towards the living room, a swarm of his relatives hustled out into the corridor and surrounded him, slamming into him with hugs and a wall of noise. His little cousins were clinging to his ankles as he tried to walk forward, his Grandma was yelling something in his ear whilst his other cousins and Aunts and Uncles battled each other for his attention and he couldn’t hear a thing.

He looked around desperately for Becca but she was sandwiched between their Grandma and two of their cousins who were wrestling. Before he could register what was happening he was being tugged from the mass of Barnes’ by the unmistakable grip of his Mother who enveloped him in a huge hug which he returned happily, if a little confused. She pulled away, keeping her arms gripping him and fixing him with a stern look which he assumed was to do with the three missed dinners but she was pulling him forcibly into the dining room before he could speak.

“Ma, what’s –” He stopped short as his Mother shut the door behind them, a barricade between them and the Barnes entourage, his eyes fixed on the small, ruffled looking blonde Art History teacher sat at his family dinner table. His first thought being that Steve’s hair looked like it did after Bucky’s hands had raked through it and he blanched, not finding his voice before his Mother did anyway.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve smiled feebly, with an awkward wave and it was only Mrs Barnes smack to his bicep that brought him down to Earth.

“You want to explain to me exactly why this boy has been back in town for _months_ and you haven’t brought him round for dinner?” Mrs Barnes flung a rhetoric and it was a direct hit. Bucky was flailing, desperately grasping for some defence when all he could think of was some weird far off fantasy where he brought Steve home for a family dinner like he would bring a spouse and wow, he was really sleep deprived.

“It’s not his fault, Mrs Barnes. I’ve been really busy with work,” Steve piped up and Bucky sent him a look of both appreciation and warning, Steve hadn’t faced Mrs Barnes on the war path for nearly four years.

“Too busy for me, for this family?” Mrs Barnes slung another ace hit and Bucky could tell it was a bullseye from the way Steve went stiff and started stammering.

“No, of course not, I –”

“It’s alright, Steve, I understand you may have found coming directly here after so long difficult. James here has no such excuse for his awful manners,”

“Ma,” Bucky whined and she raised an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t think of Steve as family anymore?” Mrs Barnes snapped ruthlessly in a beautiful display of the genetics that led to the Barnes children’s wrathful temper.

“Of course I do!” Bucky all but shouted back, so quickly he surprised himself. His Mother’s expression softened a little and Bucky saw Steve duck his head.

“Then treat him like it,” Mrs Barnes said, less harsh, more exasperated. Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, sorry,” He mumbled to them both, eyes on the ground, and his Mother shook her head but Steve caught the affection in her eyes.

“Alright, you boys go on and get the cutlery out before dinner.” She instructed and Steve was just as quick as Bucky to hurry to the kitchen. When the coast was clear Bucky span around from the closed door to see Steve fighting laughter valiantly.

“What the fuck?” Bucky wheezed a laugh as he spoke and Steve snorted behind his hand, trying not to laugh loudly.

“I know, I’m so sorry. Becca ran into me when I was Christmas shopping and basically abducted me and held me hostage until you got here and whilst we were waiting your Mum basically called your whole family who all came to welcome me back, which is –”

“Ridiculous!” Bucky finished and Steve frowned though there was still humour in his eyes.

“Sweet,” He corrected and Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes with a smirk before his smirk half-slipped from his face and Steve noticed, a worried expression coming over his face.

“I really didn’t mean to intrude, I just hadn’t –” Steve started to backtrack, looking terrified that he’d crossed some sort of line.

“Steve, stop! It’s nothing like that, just, how is it? I was always going to bring you eventually but I didn’t want to throw you in the deep end with the whole family thing, you know?” Bucky watched him carefully, judging for any giveaways that he was hiding any discomfort but he just fixed Bucky with an odd look and a distant smile that Bucky wasn’t sure Steve was aware he was sporting.

“You were always going to bring me?” Steve asked quietly and Bucky heard some warmth in his voice and he smiled reassuringly.

“Course, I meant what I said. You’re family, Stevie.”

Steve let out a huff of air and scuffed his feet on the floor slightly, nodding with a smile.

“Thanks, Buck. Means a lot.” Steve’s voice was small and it shifted some of the junk about in Bucky’s chest. He wasn’t always the best at siphoning through the emotional stuff but he went with his instincts and reached out, grabbing Steve’s hand and tugging him into a hug, encircling his shoulders with his arms and holding on tight. Steve sighed into his chest and he hoped his gulp wasn’t too loud. He very nearly pressed a kiss into Steve’s hair and nearly laughed at how off the ball he was today.

They pulled away and threw on smiles and went back into joking with each other whilst setting the table and Bucky went to sit next to Steve at dinner but Becca stole the seat and Bucky ended up glaring at her from where he sat opposite Steve instead. It was like they were kid again. Only now looking at Steve, he had some laugh lines and he knew how to do his hair properly.

Steve was predictably ambushed at dinner but he was holding his own remarkably well until Bucky’s Grandma pitched in.

“So do you have a partner yet, Steven, dear?”She dragged her sleeve through her gravy as she leaned over the table in his direction. Steve laughed awkwardly at the attention he was receiving.

“Uh, no, no not yet, Grandma Barnes,” Formal as ever, it made Bucky roll his eyes and he caught Steve’s eye with a smirk which was returned. Becca kicked him under the table and smirked knowingly at him – he kicked her back.

“Well, why ever not? It can’t be because you haven’t met the right person, you’ve travelled the globe, goodness knows you’ve seen enough. Or is it you have a special someone you have your eye on already?” Grandma Barnes may be a little hard of hearing but her eyes were keen and there was no doubt she noticed that Steve suddenly became fascinated with his broccoli. Bucky couldn’t help but watch him too and saw the blush creeping up his neck.

“It’s not like that, exactly,” Steve countered carefully and Bucky nearly choked on his chicken as he tried to breathe in with his mouth full.

Steve was trying his hardest not to have a cardiac arrest. He was _not_ a good liar. And when Bucky’s eyes flicker to his after his Grandmother asks yet again who his ‘special someone’ is, he can’t quite not panic that he’s being obvious about what he’s feeling, and that’s endlessly frustrating as he’s not even sure what it is yet. But he remembers Barnes’ well enough to know it’s rare they miss the important stuff. Shit, was this the important stuff. Don’t look at Bucky, don’t look at Bucky, don’t look at Bucky. He looked to his right and shot Becca a look which must have conveyed his floundering because she honourably changed the topic.

“So I’m going to get a job,” Becca announced and to Steve’s relief everyone’s attention, including Bucky’s shifted to his sister.

“Bec, you can’t get a job with all your extra classes, you’ll fall behind.” Bucky’s face was a picture of confusion and concern and it made Steve’s heart swell, a drastic juxtaposition to its previous mad panic. Bucky had always been the perfect older brother, he was caring and attentive and he remembered things, the little things that she’d mention in passing but were actually bothering her the most.

“Well, I need to take those advanced art classes but I can’t afford them and I can’t get into college without that tuition so, yeah, don’t really have a choice,” She laughed uncomfortably and looked like she maybe regretted taking the gauntlet of the conversation’s focus. All her relatives started commenting at once.

“Rebecca, you should be doing something more stable than art, anyway, look at your brother!” Grandma Barnes announced and Becca’s teeth grinding was loud enough for Steve to wince.

“I told you I can get you an apprenticeship at a law firm my friend’s son works at,” Their Aunt Rachel said, a misguided attempt at kindness.

“You can’t just live thinking about money, Becca, it’ll eat you up!” Mrs Barnes piped in, and this was apparently not a new conversation in the household, even if it was the first Steve or Bucky was hearing of it. The overbearing comments continued, falling on deaf ears as Becca rolled her eyes at her roast potatoes.

“Bec, I’ll pay.” Bucky offered, naturally. It was such a Bucky thing to say and Becca knew it too, having anticipated it she narrowed her eyes.

“No, Bucky, you couldn’t afford it anyway and I’m not taking your money, you barely get enough to live as it is,”

“I can pick up some extra shifts, this is worth it, you can’t just –”

“No, stop it! I’m not taking your money, Bucky! You always do this and I know you’re trying to help but it’s not going to be so helpful when you get sick from working yourself too hard or kicked out of your apartment for not paying your rent is it?” Becca’s voice was raising and people were falling silent now at the uncharacteristic argument brewing between the two.

“Stop being self-sacrificing, Bec, some things are more important than me having some spare change.”

“I’m self-sacrificing!” Becca yelled incredulously.

“Settle down, Becca,” Mrs Barnes warned but it was half-hearted. It was a well-known fact in the Barnes household that if something needed to be said it would be said, and if something needed to be yelled, that’s just what had to happen.

“You’ve barely spent a pay check on anything but food and clothes since you started that job, you’re still sending back half to Ma aren’t you?” She accused and Bucky’s jaw stiffened.

“A third.” He bit out and Becca laughed without humour. The table was silent and Steve barely moved but his eyes flicking between the siblings.

“You look like death, Bucky and you have some bullshit hero thing –”

“Rebecca,” Mrs Barnes warned again.

“–at the expense of your dreams, so why shouldn’t I do the same?” She’d hit a nerve there and it was obvious as Bucky’s expression went stony and his chest was rising and falling faster than it should have been. Steve was expecting Bucky to deny what Becca had said and his response made Steve frown at him.

“This isn’t about me,” His voice was steady and controlled and he looked like he was pointedly not looking at Steve.

“No, it’s about me, and there’s a reason I’m the one getting to go to college when you never let yourself.” Becca had crossed a significant line here, they didn’t talk about Bucky not going to college because their Mother couldn’t pay for the house, it was... sensitive. Certainly not table talk. Becca had always been furious that Bucky didn’t try and go for his dreams in college because he felt a sense of duty as ‘the man of the house’ to provide for her and their Mother. She got it but it felt wrong and unfair and cruel.

“I didn’t let myself?” Bucky yelled, his tone dangerous – hand was tensed on the table and he and Becca were both standing now.

“Bucky, stop.” Steve was standing too, his hands outstretched and Bucky finally looked at him but the look was one he hated. All walls and harsh lines and frustration but Steve persisted, shaking his head and it must have triggered something because Bucky closed his eyes and released a heavy breath. Then he pushed away from the table and left the room, the door slammed shut behind him.

The entire table was silent and Becca looked distraught, on the verge of tears where she stood. Steve looked over to her and she gave him a weak smile, reading his mind as she nodded.

“It’s alright, Steve. Thanks,” Becca said, touching their fingers together briefly as she sat back down. There was a murmured agreement from Mrs Barnes who looked weary. Steve didn’t look to the rest of the table before following Bucky out of the door.

Bucky was pacing at the bottom of their long garden (it had always been his favourite part of their childhood home). He knew he and Becca went too far in there but the thought of her not getting to college after she’d worked so hard and seen Steve go off and do it was unbearable. And saying that he’d given up his dream was ridiculous, sure, he’d fancied college for a while but it was more just the idea of it, he hadn’t even known what he wanted to study. So, he’d been practical and helped give back to his Ma so she didn’t lose the house, was that such an awful thing?

Steve walked the distance from the back door to the end of the garden quickly. It was a rare beauty in Brooklyn, Mr & Mrs Barnes had originally bought the house in spite of its state due to the lovely garden which had a selection of blossom trees in and around it at the bottom. Bucky spent a lot of time down by the blossoms after his Father went away.

“You okay?” Steve started. He was a good friend, God knows how awkward that was for him and now he felt embarrassed. He didn’t look at his friend, he just nodded and Steve huffed.

“I know you’re worried, but, you can’t yell at her, Buck.” Steve sounded firm, disappointed almost and it made something in Bucky’s stomach twist and he felt sick. Rather than apologise or explain he felt the defensiveness flare up before he could stop it and he twisted to fix Steve with an angry glare.

“So you’ve just come down here to yell at me too, huh? Which of my life choices has you most pissed off?” It was cold and harsh and Steve’s flinch was enough for Bucky to feel like the biggest dick on the planet.

“Knock it off, Bucky.” Steve stood his ground, he was never one to back down but this time Bucky really wished he would, he didn’t want to yell at Steve.

“Knock what off, exactly? Apart from worry about my sister, what exactly have I done wrong, Steve?”

“You belittled her decision and you treated her like a child when we both know full well she’s damn capable and can make her own mind up.” Steve’s face was determined and Bucky really wished he could calm down for a minute but he was operating on less sleep in a week than was recommended per night and couldn’t dampen the fuse.

“She knows I was just trying to look out for her and she threw it back at me!” Bucky retorted angrily and Steve stepped forward, he was angry too now.

“No, you did what you always do, Bucky, you offered yourself up on a silver platter, like your life is just there to sort out hers,”

“That’s what a big brother is,” Bucky snarled and Steve stormed closer, refusing to be intimidated, he knew this routine and it was bullshit and he wouldn’t take it.

“No, that’s what condescending is!” Steve shouted.

“She’s told you before that she doesn’t want to take your money, or your time, or your energy because you have already given so much and you need it, and she’s right! You’re wasting yourself, and for what?” Steve’s voice was cutting but clear and this argument stemmed from a thousand others but something in his words made Bucky’s head tilt the wrong way and his frown bunch into something it shouldn’t.

“Wasting myself,” Bucky repeated.

“Waste?” Bucky sounded terrible and Steve realised his words had hit harder than he meant to and in the wrong place. He’d just meant he needed to take care of himself.

“Shit, Bucky, that isn’t –”

“Forget it, Steve,” He sounded defeated and fuck that, this isn’t what Steve needs from him right now.

“No, I won’t. What I mean is, and what Becca means is, you... you put everyone before you, Buck, okay, you always have. Don’t get me wrong I love that about you, but I hate seeing you run down and scraping by when you don’t need to, you can ask for help once in a while, in fact that would be a relief,”

“She... She’s gotta get into college, Steve. I can’t –” Bucky’s throat was tight and Steve nodded solemnly, gripping his friend’s arm.

“She will. She’s brilliant. She will.” It was reassuring. And Becca was brilliant there was no denying it, her watercolour pieces were spectacular, all of her paint work had got her named a child prodigy at 7 and Steve had helped her hone her sketching and fine line work. Steve was just as invested as Bucky in Becca’s future and he wasn’t about to see it ruined because of something as insignificant as money.

A week later and Steve had perfected his plan throughout the week. He’d spoken to get quotes from every art teacher and advanced art course in the state and he’d worked out the costs. Christmas fell on a Sunday this year and Steve had his Christmas dinner and gift exchange with Peggy and Sam on the Friday afternoon so they could head off Friday evening to meet their families for Christmas. It was the first Christmas for years that they wouldn’t be with Steve and they were worried about him until he assured them that he would be with Bucky’s family who would take good care of him.

In the end he had gone for the couple’s massage for Sam and Sam had been ecstatic with all of his gifts. Predictably he’d bought Steve some new paints, they were fairly standard but still nice and he also got him a mug that read ‘World’s 2nd Best Teacher’ on it which he apparently thought was hysterical. Peggy was touched with the locket and happily smug with the rest of her haul and she’d gotten Steve a gorgeous new easel and a set of new fitted shirts which were very flattering.

He was most nervous about his gifts for Becca and Bucky. He was excited though, he’d gone over them with Sam and Peggy and they thought both were genius and helped him sort out the finer details.

Come Christmas Day, Steve had spent a long time getting ready to go over to the Barnes’. He was wearing one of the new shirts Peggy had bought him and it was tight in the right places, making him look lean rather than skinny. He’d paired it with braces and smart black trousers that were fitted just enough to look inviting. He’d redone his hair three times before settling on a tousled look that he hoped made him look good but not too put together.

He gathered all his gifts in a bag and waited for Bucky who was going to meet him and they would go together to the house. The only family able to make it were Mrs Barnes, Becca, Steve and Bucky and Grandma Barnes but Steve was still feeling electric. He tried not to think about Bucky’s thoughts on his outfit or gift as they just made him nervous.

At last there was a signature rap on his apartment door and he gave himself one last look over in the mirror before chastising himself and going to grab the door. Bucky’s grin slipped a little when he gave Steve a look up and down and Steve’s glow slipped just a little too in fear.

“Too much?” He gestured to himself and Bucky just stared at him dumbly for a second.

“What?” Bucky queried and Steve huffed and gestured to himself again and Bucky caught up.

“Oh, no, no! It’s perfect! I mean, it’s, yeah, it’s, you look great, it’s, yeah, showing me up, pal,” He chuckled but he looked a little flustered and Steve felt a little excitement pump through him at the idea that he had inspired that but he clamped it down.

“Yeah right, you look –” He caught himself before he said something embarrassing like ‘a movie star!’ Bucky quirked an eyebrow and looked cocky.

“I look...?” He prompted and leaned into Steve’s personal space with a smile that really should’ve been illegal – Steve would need compensation for the damage done to his knees when they buckled. Reovering, Steve scowled and shoved him, a small blush staining his cheeks.

“Like a jerk in a suit,” _A damn good suit, jerk._ Steve ignored the little voice in his head and grabbed his bag of gifts, telling Bucky to get a move on, who was still chuckling and leaning and being _Bucky._

They arrived at Bucky’s house soon enough and dinner was amazing. Becca and Bucky had talked things out, calmly, and were back to their usual banter and bickering and Steve felt at home. He felt truly at home and it was wonderful. Grandma Barnes had a bit too much sherry at dinner and fell asleep in the armchair immediately after dinner so they set her gifts aside (Steve had bought her a botanical guidebook because she’d said something about getting back into gardening.)

Mrs Barnes opened hers first and had a little selection of chocolates and kitchenware (from Steve), mixed CD’s Becca had put together for her and Bucky had bought flowers and some earrings which Steve knew he’d been saving for. Becca opened her Mother’s gift of new clothes and squealed in delight at both those and the polaroid camera Bucky had given her, telling her ‘those things have always served me well’. Steve’s mind flickered to the old polaroids they had taken so many years ago which he still had and wondered if Bucky remembered that.

Steve had declined opening his gifts until everyone else had opened theirs as he was so excited to see them. Becca’s gift was just an envelope and she quirked an amused eyebrow at him as she went to open it and his heart was going a little faster now. Bucky was grinning at him and the moment was perfect.

“What’s this?” Becca laughed, confused as she pulled out two slips of paper. One was a receipt and the other was a printed letter.

“Read the letter first,” Steve said and his voice was nervous to his own ears and Bucky was looking at him questioningly now but he had to see Becca’s reaction first.

“Out loud, Becca,” Mrs Barnes said softly from where she was half-asleep on the sofa she was sat on with Becca across from the one Steve and Bucky were on. Steve knew she’d be out before she heard what the letter read but that just meant another surprise for later, besides it was extra special with just Becca and Bucky.

“Dear Miss Barnes, after receiving a sample of your work we are thoroughly impressed with the high quality of calibre of art you are producing,” Becca’s voice lost its teasing lilt and she sat up, sounding breathless as she skimmed through the rest of the letter.

“As long as I complete required classes... exceptional student... delighted to accept you...” Becca clapped a hand to her mouth and her eyes were filling with tears. She looked up and blinked, the tears spilling over.

“Steve, this is, this is –”

“One of the best art specialty colleges in the country,” Steve finished for her and Bucky’s mouth had fallen wide. Becca flew across the room and her arms were around Steve’s neck in a crushing hug in seconds. She sobbed into his shoulder and he felt himself getting emotional and Bucky was smiling so hard he was practically glowing looking at his friend and Steve could barely breathe.

Becca sat back against the sofa, clutching the contents of the envelope in her hands and she laughed with abandon and Steve and Bucky joined in. However, when their Mother stirred in her sleep they signalled to move into the kitchen which was far more soundproof.

“Steve, how?” Becca asked, her eyes glued to the letter.

“I got hold of your portfolio and my college’s Art History tutor knows a tutor at that college and I called in a favour to get your work sent to him to look over and consider you as a fast track candidate for acceptance for next year.”

“You did that for me?” She sounded dumbstruck and Steve held up his hands.

“I didn’t do anything, Bec. I just got the work in front of him, you wowed him and the admissions board. Raw talent needs to be appreciated and you have raw talent.” Steve said matter-of-factly and Becca welled up again, smiling. Steve hadn’t seen him move until Bucky looped an arm over Steve’s shoulders and the other over his sister’s and pulled them into a close embrace which Steve cherished.

“Actually, there was another piece of paper in there,” Steve said as they pulled away and both Barnes children looked at him like he was insane.

“There’s more,” Becca said in awe and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, yeah, it’s more of an actual gift this one,” Steve said carefully, avoiding Bucky’s gaze which was his first mistake.

Becca was staring at the receipt and her face was completely different to when she looked at the letter, for this she just looked baffled. Steve’s nerves were getting the better of him and he was fidgeting now. Bucky seemed impatient.

“What is it, Bec?” Bucky asked, looking between the other two with increasing curiosity.

“It’s a receipt for, oh my God, Steve, this is too much,” Becca breathed, wide eyes scanning the receipt and Bucky’s head snapped to Steve who was quick off the mark, he’d expected this.

“No, it isn’t, I –”

“What is it?” Bucky interrupted, looking more worried than curious now.

“He’s, he’s paid up front all the fees for my advanced art classes, they’re so expensive, Steve, how did you afford this, I can’t possibly take this.”

“He did what?” Bucky choked.

Becca looked mournful and Steve stepped up, not letting Bucky speak, going straight to Becca.

“Yes, you can. Listen, I have savings and that’s not even all of them, I’m earning a lot and you Barnes’ are the reason I’m here today and for years I haven’t been able to repay you – it means a lot to me that you accept this.”

“Steve –” Bucky tried but Steve pushed on undeterred.

“It’s not too much for family and you don’t have to worry about me being in debt because I’m not. It’s a gesture of my faith in you, in your future.” Steve finished and he was determinedly looking right at Becca who started weeping and nodding, half-smiling but too emotional and overwhelmed. She launched herself at Steve again who let out a sigh of relief that she was accepting it but he knew the battle wasn’t over yet.

“Why don’t you go and ring people and tell them the good news?” Steve offered and Bucky cleared his throat. Steve ignored it but Becca looked to her brother, her eyes asking him if he was angry with her, he shook her head and she smiled and disappeared out of the kitchen.

The minute she was out of the kitchen Bucky roughly grabbed Steve’s arm, not saying a word until he’d hauled him down the entire length of the garden. Steve knew that meant Bucky wanted to yell at him and he felt a bit sick at the thought. He let go of Steve by a blossom tree that was covered in frost now and turned to face him.

“What the fuck are you thinking?” He demanded and Steve’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?! I mean what the fuck are you thinking, Steve? That’s not the sort of money you throw around! That’s supposed to be in case you get sick, isn’t it?” Bucky looked seething and this wasn’t the reaction Steve had anticipated. He’d foreseen confusion, anger, worry, maybe even a bit of betrayal but not this raw fury that Bucky was emanating.

“How did you know about that?” Steve’s voice wasn’t as strong as he’d like it to be. Bucky just levelled him with a look that said ‘oh please’. He was really angry and Steve wasn’t sure how to untangle this because he couldn’t see Bucky’s angle. Technically the money was to cover any health insurance bills and any time off work for his various ailments that he’d always been embarrassed to have to save money for when normal people didn’t worry about it so frequently.

“There’s more, and besides I’m fine, I’m not getting sick anytime soon –”

“How would you know!” Bucky yelled point blank and Steve stepped back and then bristled.

“I can spend my money however I choose Bucky,” He grit out and Bucky let out a single derisive laugh.

“And be a hypocrite whilst you’re at it. You said I couldn’t throw money at my sister, look at what you’re doing,”

“It’s different –” Steve insisted but Bucky cut him off.

“Giving everything up and being self-sacrificing is supposedly my M.O but if Becca knew what that money was supposed to be for, she’d feel sick. And now what is she supposed to do if you do get sick, feel awful because she took the money that could have saved you?” Bucky raged and Steve felt his own temper flare.

“So I’m a liability is what you’re saying. I can’t do nice things for people because I could die and then they’ll feel bad and that’s fucking selfish of me, right?” It was blunt and awful and Bucky looked like he’d been punched but Steve was furious.

“Steve, you know damn well that is not what I meant.” Bucky’s voice was deep, almost a growl and Bucky this angry had only been directed at Steve a handful of times in their lives. Steve ground his teeth more, not admitting fault, not submitting because something was unwinding here and he didn’t know what but it felt personal and targeted and he hated it. He wanted to rewind to the hug in the kitchen or the smile in the living room or the fucking leaning in his doorway and pause time there because that was them and this wasn’t. This was money and sickness and worry all screaming at each other with pride and something else mixed into the cocktail. Steve over thinking every word and Bucky throwing them away not thinking not pausing to –

“I don’t know if you’re trying to buy your way back into a family or –” And those were the words that sliced too deep.

“You think that’s what I’m doing, like that’s how I think it fucking works. You fucking jerk, you think I’m trying to _buy_ love or, or family?” He’s heartbroken and he wishes his heart wasn’t on his sleeve like Bucky always teases because he knows his heart break is written all over his face.

“Or maybe that’s the only way you think I can get it, because who’d love this walking corpse, right?” He doesn’t know when tears started coming but they were burning his cheeks and his teeth were clenched and he felt feral.

“Steve, for God’s sake, don’t say shit like that!” Bucky shouted but his voice was breaking and maybe it was his resolve too but Steve felt like he’d been torn in half and the ripped edges were open wounds.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Steve’s voice was ragged and he couldn’t find the strength to hide everything he was feeling, it wouldn’t matter Bucky could see through it anyway.

“No, God, no, you just don’t have a family so –”

“I, what?” Steve whispered and Bucky’s head snapped up when he realised what he’d said.

“Shit, Steve, that’s not what I meant, I didn’t mean it like that at all, I –” His eyes were red-rimmed now and his lips were chapped and sore-looking from all the chewing on them he was doing in his nerves. He was still talking but Steve couldn’t hear any of it, his chin was against his chest and all he could register was tears falling against the frost-dusted grass and the words ‘you don’t have a family’ echoing around his head. It’d happened before but never in Bucky’s voice, never Bucky’s.

“You’re a liar,” He choked out.

“Fuck, Steve, please listen,” Bucky’s eyes were wild and he was stepping forward hands out but Steve was stepping away.

“You’re a liar, I thought we were...”

“We are, we –”

“No, we aren’t, because I don’t,” He was gulping in air and salty tears.

“Because I don’t have,” He couldn’t finish it and suddenly Bucky’s hands were on his face forcing him to look up and into his eyes which were full and apologetic and terrified.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He bit down hard on his lip as a tear chased his eyelashes and God, he was beautiful, Steve couldn’t help but think. Steve knew Bucky well enough to know he said things without thinking and he probably had a million thoughts in his head now that he wants to say but doesn’t know how to but Steve feels the same, he’s choking on the words he needs, distracted and overwhelmed. But suddenly Bucky is speaking and once he’s started he can’t stop it’s like the words are pouring from a tap that’s stuck on full blast.

“You’re my family, you’re so important to me Steve, shit, I can’t explain to you how much you mean to me and of course you’re my fucking family, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, I’m a moron and I take you for granted and I say shit I don’t mean and I say mean shit, but never that, Christ, never that, okay. You’ve been my family since the day I met you and that’ll never change and it scares the shit out of me when you’re reckless but then I’m reckless because I risk even the chance of losing you and what am I thinking, you know? Shit, please forgive me, Steve, please, forget what I said, forget it, I, I, just please, believe me, believe your stupid, arrogant, cruel, heartless fucking –”

“Stop it.” Steve whispered and Bucky nearly tripped over his tongue he shut up so quickly and they were really close. Was this normal for friends who were fighting and trying to apologise? Was it normal to forgive someone in a literal heartbeat? Maybe half of one?

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Steve said sternly and Bucky nodded, inches away from him and they still didn’t address it.

“You too, please. Just don’t, it makes me,” Bucky just shakes his head slowly, rubbing their foreheads together and this felt so normal and natural but Steve absently noted that he’s never done this with Peggy or Sam or Tony or Bruce. He nods and plants both hands against Bucky’s chest putting an arm’s length distance between them and Bucky looks physically ill – like he’s expecting Steve to fly off the handle.

Instead he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the small envelope that is Bucky’s Christmas present.

“It’s not money,” Steve says and he knows it’s in poor taste and instantly feels guilty at Bucky’s flinch but Bucky doesn’t say anything. He just takes it and opens it. It’s an invitation, small, delicately scripted.

_The debut collection of live works by the upcoming contemporary artist Steve Rogers._

_Opening January 6 th – 5:00pm_

Bucky gaped at it, thinking of how long Steve had declined having his collection presented. The little invite went on to describe directions to Peggy’s museum and in bold at the bottom held the words that made Bucky’s throat close up again.

_‘Works inspired and dedicated to life long friend Bucky Barnes.’_

By the time Bucky’s looked up Steve is at the other end of the garden, just disappearing from sight through the back door and for the first time since he’d come outside Bucky felt a chill course through him. Please say he didn’t just fuck things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ///distant bribes for comments and kudos///  
> (hope you enjoyed!! ignore any extra end notes, I still can't get rid of them!)


	9. Give and Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bomb scare - emphasis on scare. Attacks, secret phone calls, dramatic running across the city, it's full on kicking off. Steve feels daring and finally pushes the boat out and Bucky's positively combusts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, figured you deserved some progress considering how angsty last chapter was - pre-warning, there's some more intimate touchy feely stuff near the end, nothing too outrageous, just in case you don't want to read that. Really getting into the plot now though, it's all getting set up - I'm excited to see if anyone will guess what's going to happen. (also i didn't plan it but Foggy and Matt ended up in this chapter) please comment it is wonderful!! Okay enjoy.  
> +thank you so much for your lovely comments and 200 kudos wowowow!!  
> ++ i listened to 'our perfect disease' by the wombats whilst writing most of this  
> [HAPPY HOLIDAYS]

It was the day before New Year’s Eve and Bucky, after losing all resolve, had called Steve no less than eight times in two and a half days. He knew he was getting out of hand. On the bright side, he had enough sense not to leave any voicemails, that’s a rabbit hole no one need fall down. Steve wasn’t answering and Bucky knew how stubborn he could be so this could go on for weeks if he didn’t intervene.

The problem was he was too chicken to go to Steve’s place, or, God forbid, go to his work and corner him there. What if it made the problem worse? Steve clearly hadn’t forgiven him so what else was he supposed to do?

The irritating blinking of his phone told him he had perfect signal, he wasn’t missing calls, he just wasn’t getting any. Or texts for that matter – luckily he’d only sent a single text to Steve and he felt it said all he needed to say, a crappy two word cheat code for forgiveness but it was a fallback and it was the only thing he could think of. Even so, it obviously wasn’t working and he was tearing himself up.

“Barnes, turn that damn thing off,” Fury snapped from the front of the room and Bucky quickly snapped back to the present, muttering an apology as he switched off the object of his torment.

“I’ve got some news and you boys aren’t gonna’ like it,” Fury said and the room sat itself a little straighter. Bucky physically noticed his spine tense a little, Fury wasn’t one for dramatics; it was rare he left anything more than a memo unless it was incredibly important so this was leaving him more than a little unsettled.  

“Is this about Dernier?” Falsworth piped up and Bucky looked over in confusion, as did the rest of the squad. A quick head count verified that Dernier was indeed missing. In his preoccupation Bucky hadn’t noticed and unease settled into his gut at record speed, cemented by Fury’s mouth pursing into a thin line.

“That’s part of what I’m here to talk about,” Fury said slowly. It didn’t take long for Bucky to put two and two together.

“He’s been attacked, too?” Bucky watched Fury’s face carefully and his squad followed his lead, a twitch of his brow was all the confirmation Bucky needed and he cursed under his breath. Dum Dum wasn’t so reserved.

“Some bastard has gone after Dernier, too?” He was on his feet and yelling and Bucky almost flinched at the sudden outburst. Shocked as he was, this was his squad, and he couldn’t have any of them mouthing off in front of their boss and superior.

“Dum Dum,” He warned, getting to his feet slowly but Dum Dum was apparently letting out some built up anxiety about the whole situation, that and he hadn’t caught Bucky’s expression yet.

“Picking us off one by one, what, are supposed to fucking taser any guy who gives us a sideways look?” He roared at Fury and Bucky stepped in front of him, hand raised.

“Dugan, outside.” He grit out.  He understood it was stressful on his team but yelling at the messenger wasn’t helping anyone, especially when said messenger was the boss. Dum Dum bristled but stopped at the use of his last name, an example of Bucky pulling rank and not pulling his punches and he knew better than to push it. A tense second passed before Dum Dum stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him. Bucky let his footsteps fade out before he sat back down.

“Sorry.”

Fury shook his head and all eyes were still on Bucky who was in full team leader operation. The thought of someone jumping Dernier, or anyone on his team, his eyes flickered to Izzy and Morita and his hands clenched, it made him want to hit something until it stopped moving.

“This is now a situation that takes priority. The police are suggesting extra surveillance and non-lethal weapons to have on you at all times.”

“So Dugan was right – we’re going to be taser lackeys who can’t shit without someone writing it down?” Howard snarked from his position on the edge of a table and his voice was harsher and more dangerous than usual and Bucky’s frown deepened. Regardless of the situation, his team weren’t some insubordinate bunch of common thugs who talked shit to whoever they wanted – they were trained professionals and he refused to be shown up because they were a bit freaked out.

“You watch your tongue, Stark, or you can go mouth off to Dugan,” Bucky’s voice was underlined and he saw Howard’s jaw clench painfully but he nodded and that was what mattered. They didn’t have to be happy, they just needed some self-control.

“Go on,” He prompted Fury who’d been watching the exchange with some curiosity, he seemed to appraise Bucky and nodded, as if satisfied with the display, before continuing.

“It’s not ideal, but you boys are the best in the state, we won’t risk you. We don’t know why or who but we’ll find out. As Cohen and Morita are well aware, they use numbers, two men attacked your colleagues here, however, Dernier was conscious for long enough to confirm four men attacked him, lucky for him there were some passersby who got help.” Fury explained and there was a low unhappy grumble from the shaken team.

“If for some reason they are trying harder now, you’ll have to be on your guard at all times. So far none of you boys have been shot, which is all well and good until you look at the reasoning. Keep your eyes open, I don’t want to have any more bad news, understand?” There was an affirmative in unison and Fury left the room, apparently feeling nothing else needed to be said.

The heavy, loaded silence was almost present enough to be another person, sat crying in the corner.

“What’s Fury mean, ‘all well and good until you look at the reasoning’?” Morita said at last, sounding slightly annoyed, like he thought not getting shot deserved a little more relief. Bucky waited to see if anyone else would fill him in but they were all looking his way again. He sighed deeply.

“You didn’t get shot, right? But did they have guns?” He asked Izzy and Morita and they looked confused and Izzy answered.

“Yeah, they both did,” He sounded like he was midway through piecing things together and he didn’t want to finish the puzzle.

“They could have shot you. They’re attacking you and they have loaded weapons, why not use them? If they were just roughing you up, why bring them? You both managed to run, right? And people found Dernier by the sounds of it. What if you hadn’t got away? Either they just wanted to scare the shit out of you, but again, why not use the guns, or they were gonna’ take you and someone specifically told them not to use guns.” Bucky was looking at his squad intensely, trying to get them to understand the gravity of the situation. It was like an invisible internal domino effect as each man’s face turned grave and Izzy and Jim looked sickly.

“Once or twice, that’s coincidence, three, in the same spot, all firefighters, that’s a pattern. That’s targeted hits. And they’ve never got the same one twice,” His teammates looked none the wiser and he huffed, frustrated.

“How? Do they know our schedules? Or are they sitting in the back of a van waiting until a new one pops up to take on?”

“Why would anyone even do this, though? What’s to gain from hurting us?” Falsworth wondered out loud and he sounded as angry as Bucky felt.

“Maybe nothing. There’s some psychopaths in the world,” Howard offered grimly and something was off with him, he looked furious.

“Real helpful, Stark,” Gabe snapped and before Howard could argue back Bucky waved a hand for them to shut up.

“We need to co-ordinate ourselves, no more surprise attacks. From now on I take all shifts that finish at 2,” Bucky began methodically, eyes on the floor, drawing up plans for safety in his head. A chorus of objections arose much to Bucky’s frustration.

“Boss, no –”

“you’re joking right –”

“over my dead –”

“That’s way too dangerous –”

“Enough,” Bucky growled and the room settled. It was times like these that he was grateful to have such a well-trained squad, they couldn’t help but respond to instruction and leadership in dire situations. Looking up, he saw he was the only man still sitting and he stood to afford them the decency of eye contact.

“I’m not a damn idiot, all right. The 2 o’clock shift is the one you guys got jumped on, I get it, but someone’s gotta’ do it, and you’re all my responsibility. It’s fucked up enough that three of my team have already got hurt and no one else is,” He said matter-of-factly, sizing each man up quickly as he spoke. He could almost hear Steve’s voice telling him off for pulling some ‘alpha male bullshit’ is usually how he describes it. It would have been enough to make him smile if he didn’t have a brief flashback to their argument at Christmas and his mood somehow soured even further.

“Starting tonight – Howard, I’ll leave the scheduling to you, all other shifts alternate but the one in station until 2 which is mine, got it?” He heard a huff of sarcastic, displeased laughter from Howard before he spoke.

“Sure, yeah, great, sign your own warrant for kidnap,” Howard snapped and it was clear he was saying what everyone else was thinking. It was also clear that he had a hell of a lot more he wanted to say but was locking it up for the sake of his job. Bucky tried his very hardest to show no reaction, he had a good pokerface; he lived with Natasha for crying out loud.

“Good, you can all tell Dugan the good news before you clock off.” He didn’t give them a chance to respond to his dry comment before he followed Fury’s footsteps and stalked out of the room.

He was weighing up probabilities of getting attacked, how to defend himself, how many guys was too many to fight, what was the run to fight ratio, when he walked directly into Director Fury in a secluded corridor.

“Sorry, excuse me, sir,”

“Barnes, wait,” Fury held his arm steady and stared at him with something strange in the single eye available.

“Sir?” Bucky let his arm drop and waited patiently for Fury to spit out whatever knew bombshell he had still lurking.

“First off, this is classified information, your team doesn’t need to know but you do, I hope that’s clear,” Fury warned and Bucky nodded seriously, fighting the urge to gulp like a schoolboy being given detention.

“There was another bomb at a fire, just on the border of your boys’ precinct. Would’ve been the exact same M.O except it was a false alarm – smoke bombs, a load of shit set off but no flames and a note was left with the bomb. Same logo on it as the one on the bomb,”

“Note?” Was all Bucky could muster in response to this new information. Fury said nothing but pulled out his phone, fiddled about with the touch screen for a moment before passing it over.

“I’ve already emailed this to you,” Fury added as Bucky began to read. On the phone was a picture of a scrap of paper with printed black, bold lettering.

**_DEAR HOWLING COMMANDOS_ **

**_NO NEED TO FRET_ **

**_YOU HAVENT SEEN THE BEST YET_ **

**_NO DANGER FOR YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBOUR PRECINCT_ **

**_A REMINDER TO RETHINK_ **

**_NO REST FOR THE WICKED_ **

**_NO FIRE OUTSIDE THE KITCHEN_ **

**_YOUR CLOSEST ATTEMPTS WILL HAVE TO DO_ **

**_WHO DO WE HAVE TO BURN TO BURN YOU???_ **

Bucky’s eyes flickered back up to meet Fury’s, handing the phone back. His head was swimming now he’d dove head first into some day time TV Detective show bullshit. He tried to keep his breath steady as Fury began fiddling on his phone again. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been staring at the phone but when he blinked, remnants of the words ‘Who do we have to burn to burn you???’ flashed on the backs of his eyelids and it made him wince.

“What the fuck do these guys want with us?”

“Nelson, meet James Barnes, team leader for the 107th.” Fury said to no one apparently before he handed his phone back to Bucky who hesitantly raised it to his ear. Fury then proceeded to raise an eyebrow at him expectantly and he cleared his throat.

“What the fuck do these guys want with us?” A flicker of almost amusement flashed over Fury’s features but there was no solid evidence, it could’ve been the light. A huff of sympathetic laughter came from over the phone.

“That’s what we’re working on,”

“Who’s we?” Bucky asked the voice named Nelson.

“Sorry, can’t really tell you that,” Nelson sounded apologetic but Bucky was pretty much sick of being kept in the dark about everything and his expression must have made his feelings clear as daylight because Fury chimed in.

“Hear him out, Barnes,”

“Yes, Sir,” He bit out, making it damn clear he was doing this because it was an order not because he had any inclination to side-step the political minefield that was Fury’s connections. Sure, he was so curious and frustrated about what was going on it hurt, but he wasn’t going to say that.

“Oh, Sir! You can stay,” Came Nelson’s voice with a chuckle which, upon no return from Bucky, he attempted to hide behind a cough. When Bucky still said nothing he finally began properly speaking.

“The note addressed to your team is a scare-mongering technique but attached to a faulty bomb is a shabby terrorist routine on first glance. However, the bomb was never meant to go off, it wasn’t even hooked up to any explosives; it was just made to look like one, like the exact ones your team have been encountering.”

“Why? What’s the point, why not just do one in our precinct again?”

“They’re making it clear this is meant for your team, the fires, bombs, the threats and attacks. Whatever this organisation is, they’re not just fuelling revenge for a feud against firefighters, it’s against you gentleman specifically.” Nelson sounded sympathetic but curious and Bucky knew the next question before it came.

“No, I don’t know of any reason why someone would do this. My guys are good guys; we’re not secretly smuggling or killing puppies, we’re just as confused as you are,” Bucky could hear the defensive anger in his voice but felt it was slightly warranted. The idea that these awful things were deserved was infuriating and just plain wrong. He knew every member of his team inside out and not a single man deserved any of this.

“I believe you, Mr. Barnes,” Nelson responded and Bucky calmed down a little when he heard the sincerity in his voice.

“Good. Well, what are we supposed to do? Wait, until they get bored or someone gets killed,” Bucky asked, he was a little desperate for any kind of advice for what to do in this situation, he was never trained for this.

“Absolutely not, we’re going to find a solution but I’m afraid there’s not much else you can do at the minute but shared shifts, non-lethal weapons –”

“Yeah, we know all that, thanks though,” Bucky was trying a little harder to sound grateful, the guy was trying to help after all.

“I should warn you – the last line of the note,”

“Yeah what the hell does that mean?”

“It’s a threat basically, uh, has anyone got hurt, civilians I mean, who’re close to members of your team? Friends, relatives, partners, hell pets–”

“Gabe’s girlfriend and Morita’s Grandma, they were in buildings that were hit,” Bucky said, head beginning to hurt as he took in the situation. His heart was starting to pound hard in his ears and he struggled to hear Nelson’s voice down the phone. Had he looked he would’ve seen Fury’s grim facial expression.

“Howard’s girlfriend got attacked last night, he hasn’t told anyone, he’s blaming himself but we know,” Fury interjected and Bucky nearly threw up, the phone no longer at his ear but limply in his hand.

“Howard doesn’t have a– oh shit,”

Peggy. But if Peggy was attacked then, then...

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky dropped the phone and had a few seconds of light-headedness before he sank into a sprint down the corridor. **Steve Steve Steve**.

He ran so hard he could feel his hands going numb from how much he was clenching them. Steve hadn’t answered a phone call, email or text since Christmas and Bucky had thought it was because he was angry at him but even Steve would give some kind of trace that he was still alive. He should’ve gone round, he shouldn’t have been such a fucking coward, such a proud bastard, he should’ve just gone round, apologised, like a proper friend, a proper decent human being.

If something terrible has happened to Steve, it’s all Bucky’s fault and what the fuck is he going to do? How’s he supposed to carry on? Where does he go from there? The running’s starting to make his legs ache but he can’t let up, not until he gets to Steve. He has to find Steve. The thoughts whizzing around his head are lethal and toxic and Bucky would give anything to find Steve, even if Steve hated him for the rest of his life, never said another word to him, he’d take it to know he’s alright.

He can’t even remember if he got the subway or if he caught a cab but all he knows and all he is feeling is the running. Morita’s Grandma felt distant, even Gabe’s girlfriend felt coincidental but Peggy was different. Peggy _lives_ with Steve, they share lives, he shook her hand, she shoved them together when they were being dumb, she’s there, she’s present and with Steve more than Bucky ever is. Even without all the other information, Steve could have just happened to be with Peggy when it happened, he’s been in danger for fucking weeks and Bucky hasn’t done a damn thing. What kind of guy does that make him? A guy who gets his friends hurt?  

He was coming up to Steve’s school and the lights are still on and Bucky sends a loud thank you to whoever has allowed it to still be early. He runs into the lobby, gasping for air and on his way to reception he slams into someone in a lab coat who grips his arms.

“Woah, buddy, you okay? Oh my God, it’s Bucky the firefighter, where’s the fire, man? I swear I haven’t been messing with the sensors this time, I mean, not that I did before–”

“Steve, where’s Steve, is he here?” Bucky gasped and Tony frowned at him, brow furrowing in concern and confusion.

“Nah, he wasn’t in today, I think he’s meeting someone tonight though,” Tony’s voice was overly nonchalant like he was hinting at something but Bucky didn’t pick up his light humour, it was a horrible juxtaposition to the panic that electrified Bucky’s insides.

“Fuck, oh God,” Bucky pulled his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth for a second.

“Dude, I’m sure he’s alright,”

“I gotta’ find him,” Was all Bucky said before taking off again out of the ornate hallways and out of the large double doors and he thumped into someone in his urgency to get out. He turned quickly to apologise and realised he recognised the man he’d collided with as it was the same man he’d bumped into, literally, outside of the school before.

He huffed out a quick apology which sounded mangled and the man gave a single smirk that Bucky didn’t bother to try and decipher before tearing down the road again. Things seemed to take a video game approach as he went onto autopilot. He ran in front of cars, vaguely registered them scattering so as not to hit him. He jumped road works and at one point took a short cut by jumping a back wall with impressive agility. People were the same as lampposts, he just had to dodge them.

The adrenaline was coming hard and fast and he was squeezing it for everything its worth. He does fight the ridiculous urge to do something stupid like steal a car or call the police. The traffic at least means he can run across roads with lesser risk of being flattened but it means catching a cab isn’t going to happen.

The sick feeling is spreading further now, seeping outwards from his heart, lungs and gut to punish his limbs and eyes and fingertips. Please, he couldn’t stop thinking it to himself and occasionally caught himself saying it out loud, please let him be okay, please, let him be alive and okay and not hurt and oh God please jut let him be okay.

He tripped on a kerb and as he fell for a brief moment he saw a fabricated imagination of Steve being thrown from a window and it nearly stopped him altogether but he ended up using the momentum of the fall to go faster. Images of knives to his throat, or a fire in his kitchen or, God the thought was enough to make him retch, being beaten to death. A new feeling overtook him then.

The mere thought of someone daring to put their filthy hands on Steve to hurt him was like someone lit Bucky’s shoes on fire. His teeth were grit viciously, he could taste blood from biting the inside of his mouth, his eyes were agony and his lungs and heart were trying to keep up but it was a merciless pace to set.

It felt like years before he reached Steve’s apartment. He bashed on the door and didn’t stop, thumping like his life depended on it, which, in a way, it really did. He was wheezing and sweating and aching and he couldn’t stop pounding on the door. It swung open and there was Steve with a frying pan and terrified eyes and the moment he locked eyes with Bucky he dropped the pan in relief. Bucky let out a strangled noise and Steve only had time to frown at him, confused, before Bucky crushed him in his arms.

“Fuck, oh my God, Steve, oh thank God,” He was clutching Steve harshly but he couldn’t help it. The adrenaline wasn’t dying yet, he still felt terrified and sick and scared but relieved and overwhelmed were being swirled in and it wasn’t sitting still inside of him.

“Buck, what’s–” Bucky released an angry growl-turn-moan-turn-sob, pushing his forehead against Steve’s and forcing them both back against the wall in the hallway and Steve’s apartment door slammed shut. Bucky’s hands were everywhere, checking he was alright, but mainly his face, stroking his cheeks and running through his hair and Steve was more scared now than he was before.

“Please, Bucky, what’s going on?” His voice was small and he desperately wanted Bucky’s hands to stop shaking. Their eyes were locked, Bucky looked like he’d never look away again and this was all the wrong context and out of order and Steve didn’t understand.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me, Christ, Steve, I can’t fucking–” Another gust of relief and emotional feverishness escaped him.

“Do what, Bucky, please,” He always said Bucky’s name more when he was scared or angry.

“I, God, Steve, I thought you were dead or someone took you or, shit, if someone hurt you, I’d lose my mind, you get it, you understand?” Bucky’s words were angry and quick but the look on his face was like nothing Steve had seen on his friend’s features before. He nodded solemnly and Bucky shuddered out another half sob.

“I’m, okay, Buck,” The words were simple but Steve could see how necessary they were and Bucky’s eyes had been begging him for them.

“Why didn’t you call?” He sounded so vulnerable it shocked Steve a little. Seeing Bucky bare his heart was so rare that Steve wanted to curl around him and growl at anyone who came too near and dared pose a threat enough that Bucky shut himself away again or got hurt.

“I was really busy getting ready for the art show,”

“Why weren’t you at work today?” The desperation was tangible, like he’s terrified Steve isn’t telling him the whole story and he’s hiding something awful.

“Peggy got hurt yesterday and I’ve been at the hospital with her, Carol’s with her and they sent me away, I just came back here to get ready to go out.” Steve hurried to explain and Bucky nodded, trusting him but not himself to speak. Steve let him calm a fraction before he tried to coax what was going on out of him, still inches apart but their foreheads weren’t touching anymore which somehow made it more scarily intimate.

“You thought I was hurt,” He prodded gently and Bucky’s expression deepened in emotion and he swept a thumb across Steve’s cheekbone as he nodded and his eyes did a spot check of every area of his face. Steve’s breath was catching now and this wasn’t the time but something was happening here, just like outside the ambulance and the museum and in the school and at Christmas and here in his fucking hallway.

“Why?” He tried, but Bucky just shook his head, still overseeing the full onceover of his features and it was making him both nervous and warm. He needed to know what was going on because if this was linked to Peggy getting hurt somehow, that was important. And if Steve was in danger that was probably important. And if Bucky could get hurt then it was fucking important.

“Bucky, why?” He demanded, trying to sound forceful but he didn’t pay enough attention to hear if it came out like that. Bucky still wasn’t saying anything and Steve was frustrated in a million ways and here they were again, inches from each other, clinging to each other like the world would stop turning if they let go and he still wasn’t saying anything.

“You were scared, Buck, why?” Still nothing. Still all gorgeous big eyes. He shoved Bucky away.

“You were scared I was hurt! _Why_? If you won’t tell me that, let’s try another question. Why did it scare you that much, Buck, huh?” His voice was shaking and he knew there were bigger things going on here. Bucky doesn’t get that scared for no reason. He doesn’t show up like an emotional wreck without a cause. But Steve could still feel Bucky’s thumb brushing across his face and his hands in his hair and holding him close and something was going on between them, it couldn’t just be him. It couldn’t just be him.

“I, you weren’t,” Bucky was trying but not hard enough, he knew what Steve was asking, it was in his face but he hadn’t got an answer. He’d just ran across Brooklyn to make sure Steve was alive and now here he was but with questions and shoving and real things that he couldn’t answer right now but couldn’t ignore.

“Did you just come to check I was okay, is this what you’d be like if it was, Dum Dum or, or Nat or hell, is this mostly because Peggy got hurt?”

“...No,” Finally a straight answer, Steve grabbed it. He stepped forward immediately into Bucky’s personal space.

“No, then what?”

“It’s, fuck I, I don’t know,” Bucky looked completely taken aback and for the first time looked away from Steve and no, absolutely not, this conversation had come too far for back-tracking and evasive crap to take away the hope that was hesitantly blooming in Steve’s chest.

“Maybe this is just me, but I don’t care. Whatever you need from me, just take it, Buck, please,” He was close again and Bucky’s not quite sure how this happened but what a sentence to hear from a man like Steve. Everything is screaming at him that this is a bad idea but his hand is sliding up Steve’s neck, slowly, deliberately and Steve is just watching him and _letting_ him.

A ragged breath works hard to keep him upright as Steve looks at him defiantly as he leans into his hand. It’s a challenge, Steve knows he wants more and he’s willing, no demanding that Bucky let’s him give it. He says over and over how he can’t offer himself up on a silver platter so what’s this? Getting square?

He swallows hard, his other hand pulling Steve’s hips against his and they’re as close as before but flush against each other and it’s in the air, they know what’s happening. Bucky’s last grip on the rope of his self control is waning as it frays with Steve’s soft breath opening his mouth a touch. Bucky wants to think that this is a test or a sick joke but he knows Steve better than that and Steve wouldn’t be doing this unless he was sure. He still can’t be sure that this is still okay, though. His indecision was almost absurd as every fibre of him seemed to be reminding him of how many times he’d dreamt or daydreamed about this and here he was, fucking **hesitating**. Like he didn’t want everything Steve was willing to offer.

Steve sucked in a deep breath, ready to play an ace card, it was clear as day in the hard glint of his eye.

“Whatever you need, just take it, Buck, take me,” The words were out before he had a chance to doubt all of this, he was backing Bucky into a corner, pressuring him almost, maybe he didn’t want anything like this. But then Bucky blinked and a low, defeated groan escaped him and he wrenched Steve’s lips up to meet his.

There was urgency to the kiss that made Steve’s pulse jump higher and his stomach sink. The space in the middle was left for the hundreds of butterflies that had exploded into acrobatics as Bucky kissed him hungrily, deeply, demanding more. The feeling was clear and Bucky was being selfish and it was fucking amazing. Steve could have cried of happiness at the fact that Bucky just needed this, that this was something he could at all want. Bucky let out a frustrated growl and he tugged Steve’s arms up and around his neck and Steve leapt into action.

He didn’t want Bucky to feel guilty about this, he wanted him to be selfish and take and take until there was nothing left, so this had to be amazing. He tugged Bucky’s neck down, hardening the kiss and he raked his hands through Bucky’s hair whilst also grazing his teeth along Bucky’s lip and the loud, uncensored groan he was rewarded with sent an insatiable bolt of pleasure coursing through Steve’s veins.

He wasted no time and slid his hands up Bucky’s shirt, tracing the smooth skin with flat palms before tugging it up, intending to rip it off. Bucky seemed to come back to himself all of a sudden, grabbing both of Steve’s hands in his own and ripping his lips away.

“Hey, woah,” Bucky started, lips red and eyes glazed, nearly all dark.

“You don’t want it?” Steve challenged, the fire in his veins making him daring and he saw heat dance in Bucky’s eyes and he bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Steve,” His name is like a dirty word on Bucky’s lips and Steve wants to hear him shout it and gasp it and wow he’s really eager for Bucky’s clothes to come off.

“Let me go and I’ll take my clothes off,”

“Oh fuck,” Bucky breathed.

“Don’t let me go and I’ll kiss you,” Steve pushed and Bucky, the poor man, he couldn’t move.

“What if I want both?”

Steve nearly pounces on him in that very moment because at last he’s saying it, he’s admitting it, Steve’s not crazy and he’s not alone in this. He smiles and Bucky’s brain takes a back seat, deciding it’s not really needed anymore. Steve gently walks them back until Bucky’s back is against the wall and he starts mouthing and kissing at his neck and, if that wasn’t enough, he grabs Bucky’s hands and guides them under his shirt, encouraging him to explore.

Bucky is responding eagerly, moans and little hitched breaths, occasionally breathing Steve’s name and Steve was just getting ready to drag Bucky to the bedroom when the front door swings open, narrowly missing them and they pull apart so quickly Steve thinks he might have whiplash.

He turns to face the intruder, dazed and embarrassingly aroused as Bucky turns away, hand covering his mouth and the other rubbing his neck. In the doorway stands Sam, keys in hand, looking torn between amusement, horror and discomfort. Behind him stands the ‘cute substitute who won’t stop asking if you’re single’ who looks surprisingly amused if a little disappointed. Steve had completely forgot he’d been emotionally blackmailed by Sam and then a bed-ridden Peggy to have some fun with a nice guy, he’d come back to get ready and Bucky had, naturally, made him forget all about any other guys.

“You’re not a cute substitute,” Sam practically yells with a stilted laugh in his awkwardness and before anyone can say anything more he grabs Bucky by the back of his shirt and yanks him out of the door and marches him down the apartment steps and out of sight. Steve’s left with the cute substitute who holds up his hands with a kind smile.

“I know a guy in love when I see one,” He laughed and Steve turned scarlet.

“Matt, you’re blind,” Steve said with a little smile.

“So, what you’re saying is, even a blind man can see it?” Matt chuckled and Steve groaned.

“I guess I opened myself up to that one,” Steve huffed with a small smile.

“Yeah,” Matt smiled and then drew in a big breath and released it.

“The cab is still waiting downstairs, I’ll grab it,”

“Okay I’ll walk you down.”

“No need, Steve,” Matt reassured and Steve quirked an eyebrow before realising that was a stupid idea.

“Of course there’s a need, we just established that you’re blind!” Steve started but Matt turned on his heel and slid down the handrail of the apartment steps, leaving Steve gaping after him.

“Who even are you?” He yelled down the steps and heard a distant chuckle. It was only stood in the landing of his apartment building that he realised he hadn’t apologised to Matt for wasting his evening and maybe leading him on a little bit, unintentionally or not. He also realised Matt had said he was in love with Bucky and Steve didn’t even think to deny it and warmth flooded him.

However, thoughts of Bucky’s worried face as he was dragged away by Sam reappear and Steve goes very cold. The last he told Sam of Bucky was a teary retelling of their argument and Bucky’s words that they both knew he hadn’t meant. He’s not sure how long he’s standing there as he thinks but it must have been a while before he hears the thumping footsteps of a single person, meaning Sam is done berating Bucky and has sent him packing.

“Steven Grant Rogers!” Sam yells and Steve winces looking around at his neighbouring apartments. Even without everything else, Sam’s voice alone tells Steve that he’s a dead man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the part where i sweet talk you for comments - hey, come here often, etc.  
> /thank you for keeping with this fic it is so amazing to have such support!/  
> p.s peggy is okay xx


	10. How Blue Is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve learns what Bucky hasn't told him. It's too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So let's pretend I didn't break my finger, then get sick, then have a break up. I got all 2:1s and two 1sts in my uni work so there's that. Short chapter I just wrote to wean myself back into writing as I've missed it and this story. However long I take I'm not giving up on this story. Please forgive me, had a lot on. Anyway, this is angst central and little trigger warning for the end, Steve has an episode and it's not graphic but just in case. Anyway, comments are love and I read them all & thank you for all the lovely kudos and comments so far and sorry again for making you wait!

Sam Wilson had never been particularly fond of aggressive confrontation. If someone needed his help or crossed a serious line then of course he’d do what needed to be done but it was a rare exception. He used laughter as therapy for stressed out kids for goodness sake, he was not an angry man. The result of this meant that in a situation where he felt legitimate anger or frustration or even just pent up exasperation, he needed some kind of outlet.

Sam Wilson’s way of venting his anger was cooking. Not just any cooking either, he made omelettes. He wasn’t a fighter, he was a whisker.

At that particular moment in time he was stood in the kitchen, stock still, bar his arm which was coursing frantic circles in the bowl of eggs that was stashed under his other arm. His eyes were fixed on Steve who was sat silently at the table, awaiting judgement.

In some ways this was worse than the infamous fiery temper of the Englishwoman they shared their apartment with. Not because it was more frightening, there was simply something irrevocably disconcerting about a man paralysed in anger and channelling it all into beating eggs whilst he stared at you.

They’d stocked up on eggs, luckily, and Sam was going to make the most of it, he was on the third omelette already. Steve knew better than to speak first, the eggs were not just for show, they were volatile and could be flown across the room at any moment. The whisk was just beginning to make the very molecules within the egg shatter when Sam chose to address Steve.

“What were you thinking?” He punctuates each word with a heavy breath, the culinary workout taking its toll. His eyebrows are raised dangerously and Steve knows all too well this is not a question he’s supposed to answer just yet.

“Oh, nothing to say?” Sam’s voice is pitched higher than average and in any other situation Steve would be laughing but he has stayed alive so long through more than just luck, an animal’s intuition.

“He’s got nothing to say!” Sam told the ceiling before laughing aggressively into the eggs and Steve was warily watching the poor whisk which was bending under the pressure Sam was adding to it.

“...Sam,” Steve tried but the hysterical cackle Sam released cut him off.

“He’s saying my name now, like I don’t know what it is,” Sam said through grit teeth and huffing like he was truly offended. Steve was baffled, he’d never seen Sam’s omelette-ing rage spiral into such depths of insanity.

“I’m going to ask you this as a friend, please, put the whisk down,” Steve said slowly as if he were speaking to a spooked animal. Sam started letting out a manic, building laugh from the back of his throat, sticking out his tongue slightly as he glared into the eggs and whisked harder and harder until at last he flung the egg-covered whisk across the kitchen and slammed the bowl of eggs onto their wooden kitchen table, leaning over it towards Steve.

“The whisk is down, I repeat, the whisk is down. And I am not happy!” Sam yelled theatrically and Steve let out a huff of nervous laughter as he pulled the abused eggs away from his friend.

“I know, let’s just talk about it, okay, please?” Steve implored. Sam stared for a second or two before relenting and taking a seat opposite him at the table.

“Alright, let’s talk, Steve. Let’s talk about the fact that on the same week that Peggy is _attacked_ ,” Sam started strong and Steve winced.

“And you are wallowing because of a huge fight you had with a guy, I find you with the _same_ guy all over each other on the night that you were _supposed_ to go on a date with a cute blind substitute that you promised Peggy you would go to. Let’s also add that said not-cute-blind-substitute also happened to break your heart in college and several times since you’ve reunited and happens to be putting you in danger every time he even thinks about you.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Steve was rattled at Sam’s tirade, he hadn’t realised this was going to cause such an issue with his usually mellow friend, he’d thought Sam might even be happy for him but apparently not.

“Not fair?” Sam looked at him like he was insane.

“Not fair is that Peggy is in the hospital and you’re off necking with the guy that put her there!” Sam yelled and Steve shoved his chair back from the table, keeping his hands glued to the top of it, not trusting himself to move much more.

“That’s not true!”

“It fucking is the truth, Steve –”

“It is not and you’re out of line, Sam!” Steve spat out furiously. It was one thing to guilt trip him for accidentally leading on a cute substitute, it was entirely another to blame what happened to Peggy on Bucky. Sam stood also, not backing down but this was beyond eggs and it was foreign territory to the two men who never fought, not seriously.

“I’m sorry but someone is out for those fucking firefighters and you bring him into our lives and Peggy winds up hurt because of it.” Sam hissed and Steve just stared at him, incredulous, furious, unable to move.

“It’s been confirmed, Steve, it’s linked to them, Peg’s attack and he’s the only one we know, he’s fucking responsible!” Sam was blinded by his pain and guilt for Peggy getting hurt, she’d only been going to the shop but he hadn’t gone with her and twenty minutes later he got the call saying she’d been admitted to urgent care. Then he finds out it’s all part of some twisted political scheme between firefighters and a bunch of psychos that had nothing to do with them. And then he’d realised, it had something to do with them, it had something to do with Bucky and Bucky had something to do with Steve.

Steve was nearly shaking he was so angry. He’d never seen Sam like this, so irrational and accusatory but it was making his blood boil just hearing him say Bucky had anything to do with Peggy getting hurt.

“Bucky’s not the only one,” Steve muttered.

“What?”

“Bucky is not the only one of those firefighters that we know, that _Peggy_ knows,” Steve spelled it out slowly.

“What are you talking –”

“Howard, he works there, apparently he’s had a thing for her forever, goes by her work whenever, I think they might have started a, a thing,” he struggled to explain what kind of relationship Peggy and Howard might have had but it didn’t take a genius to see the chemistry in the sparks between them on the few occasions he’d witnessed them interact. Sam looked taken aback, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face, confusion, suspicion, realisation, guilt.

“I, I didn’t know...”

“I don’t care. Explain what the hell you were even talking about, the, the firefighters, someone, someone out for them, what the hell does that mean?”

“Steve, I didn’t know about Howard, all I –” Sam tried to explain himself but Steve was tired and stressed and there was something else here, something he didn’t know, that Bucky was hiding and it was getting people hurt, people he cared about.

“Just fucking tell me, Sam, please, just please,” He attempted to curb his anger, he wasn’t directly angry at Sam he was just angry, and scared.

“Bucky didn’t say anything about the bombs, the, the attacks, the threats?” Sam stuttered, seemed to be just realising the extent of Steve’s ignorance and his face was falling fast. Steve’s throat seemed to have closed up. Bombs, plural, there had been more. Attacks? Threats? His stomach churned unkindly as images of someone jumping Bucky appeared in his head, someone slitting his throat, setting fire to his apartment, even the idea of someone following him home sent him off balance and he teetered back, thumping against their kitchen cabinets.

“Steve?”

He could hear the concern in his friend’s voice but he couldn’t take his eyes from the curdled eggs sitting haplessly in their bowl prison and it reminded him all too much of the swirling contents of his stomach. He managed to shake his head slightly before he spoke.

“Nothing. He didn’t tell me anything.” He finally tore his eyes from the eggs and looked up to his friend, for something, anything, any kind of consolation.

“It’s some kind of terrorist thing,” Sam was the one speaking low and cautiously now, not wanting to set Steve off.

“They’re targeting each guy on the team, apparently, attacking them, setting fires or hurting their loved ones, I don’t know, screwed up shit, leaving bombs with notes, cryptic messages, the whole shebang, man,” He informed morosely.

Sam’s words were chasing themselves behind Steve’s eyes, ‘targeting each guy’, ‘hurting their loved ones’. It all made a sick sort of sense, why Bucky had been so terrified, why his shifts had increased and his moods worsened, Alex, Gabe’s girlfriend at the library fire.

“Oh my God,” The words tumbled from his lips and Sam was next to him in a heartbeat, grasping his arms tightly, anchoring him so he didn’t careen off into his own terrifying montage of thoughts. He was terrified, in that moment he realised it. He was fucking scared, for so many different reasons. For Peggy, for Bucky and his team, for himself, for whatever feelings they’d just managed to admit that would be buried under this thunderstorm of terrible shit raining down on them.

“I gotta talk to him,” Steve managed, shaking himself from Sam’s grip but quickly being tugged back around by his obviously worried friend.

“Steve, buddy, is that such a good idea? You’re not in a good state of mind and we have no idea what he’s thinking,”

“That’s exactly why I need to talk to him,” Steve’s breath was increasing now and for a delirious moment he thought he might pass out but he willed himself to calm down.

“I have no idea what he’s thinking, what he has been thinking. He’s just been lying and putting people at risk, I need to know what in God’s name he’s thinking,” His voice cracked but kept fairly steady, he needed to convince Sam he was okay or he’d never let him leave the apartment.

“I get that, man, but maybe wait?”

“I waited, Sam. You were there and even before then, I fucking waited. I have waited for Bucky Barnes my entire life, I’m not waiting for another minute.” He hurried past Sam, grabbing his jacket from the pegs by the door and struggling to pull it on as he grabbed his keys.

“Fine, but I’m coming,” Sam tried but Steve was already fixing him with a stern look.

“This is between me and him, you’ve got to let me face this, Sam.” Steve left no room for argument and Sam’s mouth twisted into an unhappy line and he wiped a hand across his face, looking to the floor with a heavy sigh.

“First Pegs, now you. I’m not real good at keeping you guys safe, am I?” Sam’s voice was low and he sounded disappointed in himself. Steve shook his head vehemently.

“Don’t do that to yourself, Sam. We’re not kids in college anymore, you can’t keep people from picking on us, or pull us out of every bad situation we get into. It’s not your responsibility.”

Sam looked slightly affected but nodded reluctantly, the guilt clearly eating away at him but he knew Steve had a point. They were all adults and this was bigger than any of them, they were only involved by chance anyway, he couldn’t control everything.

Seeing this was as far as the two would get with each other, Steve grabbed the door and hurried out to catch a cab to Bucky’s apartment. He’s fairly sure the cab driver spoke to him on the way over but the words were like a different language. He thanked the man at the end of the journey and threw far too much money at him, fleeing the taxi as fast as he was able.

Sprinting up the stairs was and always would be a bad idea as far as Steve’s health was concerned but there was too much whizzing around his brain and he was too on edge to take his time. He needed answers, he wasn’t sure he wanted them, but the one person he’d trusted more than anyone for his entire life may have been flat out lying to him for God knows how long. Hammering down the door, Natasha opened it and it was obvious that she caught on quickly that something was happening from what she saw on Steve’s face.

“He’s in his room,” She walked around him to leave and Steve thanked her quietly and every force on the Earth that made Natasha so intelligent and tactful.

The door closed quietly behind him and Steve took a deep steadying breath before making his way to Bucky’s room. Before he could open it, it was pulled open and Bucky looked shocked and then concerned as he took in Steve standing flustered, tense and puffing in front of him.

“Steve –”

“When were you going to tell me?” Steve had meant it to sound furious but the voice that escaped was cracked and desperate. Bucky moved to touch his arm but he backed away and didn’t stop until he was the other side of the hallway.

“Tell you?” Bucky looked exhausted and tense and Steve knew he must be radiating waves of unease.

“When were you going to tell me about, about all the attacks and the, the bombs and –,”

“Shit,”

“–And the fucking threats, Buck, how long?” His fists were curled and his teeth were grinding together as Bucky crossed the distance between them but wisely didn’t move to touch him.

“I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t want to scare you,”

“Well I’m fucking scared, Buck, alright? I’m scared of a lot of things but I never stopped to be scared of you lying to me, for _weeks_ ,” He spat his words at Bucky who had shame and guilt so clear on his face Steve almost wanted to press pause just to paint his heartbreaking expression.

“I, shit, Steve I was scared, I didn’t want you to get hurt and –” He was raking his hands through his messy hair and the bags under his eyes and his drooping shoulders made something pang inside of Steve but he couldn’t let this drop, not this time.

“Peggy is in the hospital,” He punctuated each word carefully and slowly, eyeing Bucky with ice in his eyes that was uncharacteristic for him.

“I know,”

“You were scared, I asked you again and again, why were you scared, Bucky. Again and again.” He was shaking his head and Bucky reached out again but this time Steve smacked his hand away and his breathing hitched up again with his rage.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I’m really sorry,” Bucky was clearly at a loss. Steve couldn’t think clearly, he’d been thrown into a world of fear and lies all of a sudden and he wanted out.

“You’ve pulled me into this, Bucky, but you’ve dragged my friends into it too, you’ve put them in danger and me. Does that not bother you in the slightest, you selfish, thoughtless, reckless piece of shit,” His words were dripping with heartbreak and he was only half aware that he was hammering his fists onto Bucky’s chest and he was just taking it.

“It bothers me. I was scared, I was scared and stupid and I put you and your friends in harm’s way and that’s not right, please, I’m so sorry.” Steve winced at his words and turned away from the other man. Bucky was always so sincere, everything was so heavy and wholehearted it was overwhelming.

“I’m going to fix it, Steve, I swear, I promise you. I’ll never come near you or your friends ever again if that’s what it takes to keep you safe,” He began to gush and Steve whirled around, disbelief in his eyes.

“What are you talking about, it’s too late for that, Buck, for God’s sake!” He yelled.

“No, it isn’t, I can stop anything else bad happening to you if I walk away, so I’ll do it,” His voice was tight and his eyes burned into Steve’s. He was serious. Steve let out a huff of something that wasn’t laughter but was somewhere on that spectrum.

“As per usual, Bucky Barnes is in too deep, so he’s going to walk away, or run away is more like it,” Steve’s eyes searched Bucky’s and he seemed unhappy with what he found there.

“You coward,” He muttered and Bucky’s eyebrows shot up before he began to grind his own teeth.

“I’m trying to do the right thing here, Steve,”

“For who!” Steve yelled at the top of his lungs and choked a little after, making Bucky take a little faltering step forwards to help but he waved him off. Stupid, he couldn’t even argue properly.

“You’re running away, you’re deserting me now, after everything that’s happened?” Steve could hear the anger and resentment in his voice and Bucky looked like he was ripping his hair out.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Steve? I stay and you’re in danger, I walk away and I’m a coward, I lie then I’m a liar, I tell the truth and you’re scared and hate me, just, just what the _fuck_ do you want from me?” Bucky screamed at his wits end. This was the explosion after weeks of building tension, sleep deprivation, not eating enough and stressing enough to give himself an aneurysm.

“The same as always, Buck,” Steve’s eyes were red and he just looked sad and tired now, like Bucky had let him down in every way possible and Bucky looked like he wanted to be sick.

“I just want you, that’s all I’ve,” He gulped hard and looked away and Bucky was stunned.

“What?”

“I can’t be around you if you’re going to lie,”

“Steve, it was to stop you from worrying, I wanted to keep you safe.”

“Stop, just stop pretending like you weren’t doing this out of cowardice, alright? Because you know as well as I do that I would never lie to you about anything like this. It’s fucking toxic, Bucky.” He was really puffing now and gulping and it took Bucky a second to realise what was happening.

Bucky immediately pulled Steve closer, ignoring his attempts to break free. A cool hand rested against his sweaty forehead and it felt amazing but when he tried to let out a breath of relief it was stuttered and made him cough. He choked into his arm and when he opened his eyes again they widened at the blood colouring his sleeve and he heard Bucky’s gentle curse. He had regained control of himself infuriatingly quickly and the first sight that Steve wasn’t alright.

“Where’s your inhaler?” Bucky asked and Steve started making sounds of disagreement prompting Bucky to growl and forcibly search Steve’s pockets and give him some sweet relief so he could choke in a deep breath.

Steve’s not sure if he blacked out but he seems to blink and be lying on Bucky’s bed, a cold flannel being gently pressed into his forehead, he is roasting and delirious and it feels like a fever but how could it have hit so quickly.

He looks to his right and sees Bucky sitting, as always, next to his bed and thankfully his thoughts felt a lot less muddled now, it was like his brain was swimming but in a weirdly pleasant way he chose not to question. He didn’t mind the foggy vision either or how Bucky seemed to move in slow motion as he looked over him, checking to see if he was awake.

“Steve,” His voice was barely a whisper and it just reached Steve through his bubble of whatever this was.

“You had an episode, Stevie, blacked out for a few hours, scared the shit out of me, actually,” The laugh he let out was humourless and self-deprecating and it was obvious he was blaming himself for whatever episode Steve had suffered.

“I was angry.” Steve said simply and a shaky smile slipped onto Bucky’s lips and Steve just wanted it to go away, he looked so sad and Steve just wanted him to smile properly.

“I’m not now,” He wheezed and he looked so concerned from where he lay weak and helpless on the bed, like Bucky was the one who needed to be taken care of and it was just like always with the two of them.

“You have every right to be,” Bucky whispered almost to himself and Steve could feel a sleepy haze trying to pull him under but he’d blinked and hours had gone by, he couldn’t leave Bucky with that smile for hours longer. He blinked hard and tried to focus.

“You’re sorry and I’m sorry. There, that’s done,” Bucky looked back up at his friend and the smile was stronger but his eyes were damp and was that better or worse, his head couldn’t make sense of it.

“It’ll be okay, Buck,” He reassured and Bucky shushed him, he needed to rest his sore throat.

“You deserve better, Stevie. I’m a mess,” Bucky admitted and Steve surprised him by huffing out a laugh.

“Yeah, but I’d still hit it,” Steve snorted at his own joke and Bucky let out a peal of surprised laughter and it was like music to Steve’s ears and he let it lull him to sleep, hoping he wasn’t imagining the kiss to his forehead as he drifted off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haven't done this in a while. i know it's tense af, short and a bit heavy but it's just what i ended up writing for these two, i really hope you liked it. comments will give me life xx


	11. Green Falls and Bright Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to go wrong. It's unravelling and getting dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it is going to start kicking off now lads. There's more plot that needs to happen but it's escalating and the danger is going to become more real to these characters. Thank you for your lovely comments and people worried about me, I'm great now! Please let me know what you think, I got quite spooky writing this - for Bucky's shift I listened to AURORA - Nature Boy, give it a listen if you want to hear what I was hearing whilst I pictured this, it's fantastic. Anyway, enjoy!

Bucky sat in the chair pulled up next to his bed, staring at the empty sheets were Steve had been just an hour ago before Sam had taken him home. They’d silently lifted Steve down the stairs and into the cab. Sam had looked as if there was something he was going to say but then just nodded his thanks and climbed in after Steve.

He needed to go to his shift, Bucky knew that and he really didn’t want to be late, he wanted to be on top form and help to put his team at ease as far as possible by showing real leadership. However, he was still sitting there, staring at the same spot. Maybe he should be panicking or punching something but all he could do was stare off into his bed, reliving his argument turn scare with Steve.

He hadn’t even realised that all this time, his covering up how worried he was about work, Steve would see as deception. Particularly cutting phrases taunted him by orbiting his skull, reverberating when they felt Bucky’s jaw tense, knowing they were onto a winner.

_‘Selfish, thoughtless, reckless piece of shit.’_

That was a horrible one but he agreed with every word. Steve was so kind but he also drew a hard moral line to follow, one he expected everyone else to be on board with so finding out Bucky lied to him was like this shock to his system that he couldn’t process. He’d never wanted to put Steve into any kind of position where he had to be disappointed that he’d chosen Bucky as a friend or as a whatever they were.

_‘I’m fucking scared, Buck, alright?’_

That made something tighten in Bucky’s spine. When they were growing up it was always Bucky pulling Steve out of scrapes, helping him when fighting the good fight was a fight he couldn’t handle alone. He was supposed to take the fear away and seeing his friend shaking and terrified because of his actions was repellent to everything Bucky stood for.

_‘The same as always, Bucky, I just want you, that’s all I’ve–’_

He stood from the chair, wringing his hands and then scrubbing them down his face. That’s the sort of sentence he’d had dumb thoughts about since he was fourteen but it was so wrong now, he’d pushed Steve to a place where he admitted it like he was ashamed of his choices. And now neither had any certainty with each other – sure Steve made a joke in a delirious state of mind but his reflex instincts were to cheer Bucky up and he’d resorted to those in his condition. It didn’t mean Bucky was forgiven. It just made Steve the best and most painful kind of friend.

He started to get his gear together for his first late shift but his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t grab his earphones or even a jacket, just his keys and phone and tried to ignore the thoughts that were so loud he was sure his neighbours would hear them.

He contemplated the pros and cons of his current situation on the way to the station. Sure, he was under threat from a group of psychos who wanted them all preferably dead or at the very least traumatised but at least Steve knew the truth now. On the other hand he’d alienated one of the most important people in his life, not that he hadn’t already done that at Christmas and a bunch of other times he didn’t even want to think about.

His thoughts of Christmas sparked something in his head and he decided to check up on his sister and Mother, they were staying with his Grandma out of town until things cooled down. Becca picked up the phone within seconds of him ringing.

“He lives!” She yelled as a greeting and he chuckled once.

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good, what’s up with you?” Becca questioned, knowing her brother far too well. He looked at the phone in annoyance.

“Nothing, Bec, just checking in, everything good? Ma okay?”

“Yeah, bored out of our wits and get to spend oh so many hours with Grandma but no one’s died yet, so,”

“Becca,” Bucky warned, the disapproval in his voice made his sister sigh over the phone.

“Right, sorry, insensitive. How’s that whole possible death situation going anyway? Thrown yourself into any impulsive and fate tempting scenarios lately?” Becca was really on form and Bucky rolled his eyes, choosing not to mention demanding the late shift and other very recent and very intense decisions she’d chastise him for.

“You know, you’re so funny I’m forgetting to laugh.” He deadpanned, rewarded by heavy laughter from over the phone before a scuffle sounded and he heard his sister yell out. His heart jumped slightly in concern until a different voice came across the phone.

“James, is that you?” His Mother’s voice yelled, unaccustomed to Becca’s phone and Bucky winced at the volume change.

“Yeah, Ma, it’s me you don’t have to yell I can hear you just fine,” Bucky laughed a little, all his nerves and tension melted away slightly when he spoke to his Mother.

“Well hear this, you better start calling more, you promised twice a day and it’s been three days James and no phone call, what do you think I sleep three days at a time?” She ranted and Bucky let her, it was ridiculously comforting to be told off again and let someone else act as if they were in control of his life, he’d rather that right now.

“No, sorry, Ma, I’ll call.” He replied simply and there was a brief silence over the phone as his Mother stopped to contemplate what his obedient reply meant.

“James, you know you can tell me if anything’s wrong?” Her voice was softer now and it made something behind his eyes twinge as all he wanted in that moment was to be with his family. He sighed with feeling.

“Yeah, Ma, I know,”

“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate but don’t let _it_ eat _you_ , alright?” She said firmly and he smiled at her signature phrase when things got tough.

“Yeah, Ma,”

“With a little enthusiasm, James, please,” She drawled dramatically and he laughed.

“Damn straight,” He shot back and was pleased with the happy laugh his Mother released.

“That’s my boy. By the way I forgot to ask, how’s Steven?” She asked and Bucky looked up to the dark sky in exasperation wondering who gave his Mother of all people psychic powers because she didn’t ask questions for no reason.

“He’s, uh, he’s a bit sick but he’s okay, he’s with friends.” He said evasively and caught the unhappy ‘hmm’ from the other end of the line.

“Why aren’t you with him, you’re a friend,”

“I think I’d do more harm than good right now, Ma,” He said quietly, scuffing his feet on the pavement as he neared the station.

“Something tells me Steven wouldn’t be happy if he knew you were avoiding him,” She said knowingly and Bucky laughed again.

“It’s Steve, of course he wouldn’t.” They both laughed but his Mother waited, knowing there was more her son was holding in and he needed to talk to someone about.

“I don’t know, Ma. People are getting hurt, really hurt. His friend got attacked, you know?”

“That’s not your fault, James,” She said sternly.

“Isn’t it? If he gets hurt because of me, I couldn’t live with myself but it feels inevitable. I’ve gotta protect him from all of this.”

“You’re treating him like a child, it’s your biggest fault, underestimating people you care about.”

“I’m not underestimating–”

“Of course you are. You’re suggesting that if _you_ make the decision that _you’re_ going to stay in his life that it’s _your_ responsibility to keep him safe and not let him get hurt. Why is this all your decision?”

“Because–”

“I know you like him, James.” She said simply and Bucky made an odd noise in the back of his throat.

“Ma, we’re just friends, it’s not, there’s nothing... happening,” He winced at his own words and his Mother’s pointed silence which was clearly saying ‘congratulations on proving your full of shit, son of mine’.

“It’s complicated.”

“Simplify it. This isn’t a romcom, stop creating issues and being theatrical, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” She said dismissively and Bucky snorted.

“Except the pyromaniac-wannabe-murderers, right?”

“Quit being a little shit, James Buchanan,” She snapped with a teasing lilt to her voice and Bucky groaned.

“Ugh, fine, I’m sorry I’ll sort something out with him, okay, happy?” His Mother paused a little before responding.

“He’s a wonderful person, James, don’t let him slip by. You both deserve happiness.” Came his Mother’s distractingly philosophical response and Bucky cleared his throat, trying to make the moment feel less deep.

“Okay, Ma. Thanks, I’ll get my shit in order.”

“Good boy, now stop swearing at your Mother,”

“Are you shitting me?” Bucky yelled and laughed loudly when the phone cut off. He was certain he was blessed with one of the greatest Mothers on the planet.

Walking up the steps into the station he recognised that he suddenly felt alert, his conversation with his Mother had done just what he’d hoped for, it had lightened him. He’d been nothing but sulky and moody for too long and now he felt slightly back to normal. He felt determined and observant and ready.

He picked up the pace of his steps, pulling his hair into a messy ponytail and smoothed himself over, feeling more professional. He hurried up to the main control room, smiling at an exhausted looking Dum Dum, happy to be relieved from his shift now that it was nearing 10pm and he’d been on duty for hours already.

“Thanks, boss. Be careful.” Dum Dum warned as Bucky helped to hoist him from the chair he’d been chained too for so long.

“I’ll be fine, go and get some sleep, man.” His friend just grunted his agreement and shouldered his bag, leaving steadily.

Howard was on the same shift as he was but had to stay near the phones, which annoyingly was on the other side of that floor of the station. Bucky had put in requests to have it changed countless times before but it had always been put off. Fury had always said their management had more of a ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it’ kind of attitude to running the place. Nights like tonight Bucky wished they’d taken more notice, he could really use the little witticisms and cynical banter Howard tended to spew out like second nature. They had walkie talkies but the things were ancient, awkward as hell to use and Howard tended to get overexcited pretending they were spies to the point where Bucky considering burning the damned things.

Sitting in silence was one of the things Bucky hated about his job. As much as this was of course a vast improvement from bombs and death threats and naturally, fires, it was painfully dull. He knew some of the other guys drifted into the realms of prank calls and ordering pizza when it was really dead but as long as they kept it to themselves and kept things professional enough, he could accept that they were going to muck around occasionally – they weren’t machines. The team leader had to keep himself in more check than the others, however.

He hated security cameras, it was official. Staring at the footage of different areas surrounding the building whilst waiting on phonecalls that likely wouldn’t come was Bucky’s hell. Maybe because it felt like he was a middle aged security guard who was doomed to this for the rest of his life (he was a little dramatic) but he felt like he needed to jump up and grab an extinguisher, play to the stereotype, where were the cats in trees he was promised by every pre-90’s sitcom?

He was on his fifth round of eye-spy with himself when he thought he saw a flash in one of the cameras, the one that gazed at the entrance to the car park by the main road. He sat up quick, eyes scanning the screens like lightning. Checking the clock his eyes widened when he saw the time read 02:12. He’d been sat there 4 hours already.

He grabbed the ancient walkie talkie and already grit his teeth at the chunky buttons. Pressing down hard he spoke clearly to Howard, resisting the urge to break protocol and just ring him from his mobile.

“Howard, it’s Barnes, I just saw something on camera 6 by the main parking lot, I’m going to check it out.”

“Got about half of that, Roger, Charlie, alpha beta 9 is go, repeat alpha–” Bucky turned off the walkie talkie with more aggression than was strictly necessary. He grabbed a torch and begrudgingly stuffed a taser into his back pocket, fully intending not to use it. Scanning the cameras again for a second, a tingle zipped up his spine and he narrowed his eyes, feeling off.

People have always told him he has good instincts and listening to them tended to work but it meant when he felt like something wasn’t right, he was probably right. So the precarious feeling rising in his gut made him dread finding whatever it was that had caught his eye even more, knowing his senses were putting him on guard.

He took the lift to the back exit so he could have a good eyeline and several possible routes to get away if anything ambush-esque kicked off as he approached the car park. He immediately regretted not taking a coat as a biting winter gale nearly threw him off balance. He resolutely ignored it, resisting the impulse to wrap his arms around himself, he needed to be vigilant.

The gravity of the situation sank in a little as he stepped further into the dark with a spotlight only on the main entrance of the car park, the rest was near pitch black and there were a few stray cars still dotted about, blocking areas from view and creating dangerous shapes in the darkness.

He walked slowly and quietly, hearing every breath as a siren and willing his nerves to calm just a little so he could focus. Going head first into a fire was about precision and logic – flames weren’t out to hurt you or lure you into situations, they just were. They were predictable and the risks were easily calculable, this was completely different. There could be nothing here; it could have been a cat or a passing car’s headlights or even a glitch in the camera. But what if it was a belt buckle or the reflection of a knife? Suddenly the taser wasn’t so absurd.

The eerie quiet worked like a shot of adrenaline and mixed with the cold and his own thudding heartbeat it was the beginning to a nightmare he’d long since forgotten. He flexed his hands and a knuckle cracking was like glass shattering. He stopped walking when he’d reached the spotlighted area, lingering in the dark edges and scanned the blackened breeze for some hint for malicious breath before it too got swept away in the hard but hushed wind.

His phone ringing was like a fire alarm waking someone sleeping, the sickly jolt that coursed through him as he fumbled for it. The angry tones stopped and he raised it to his ear, eyes no longer calculating but furious and panicked, waiting for Howard’s characteristic drawl but he gulped at the voice that greeted him.

“Uh, hey, Buck. I’m feeling a lot better,” Steve’s hoarse voice spoke tentatively.

“Steve, it’s 2am why are you ringing me? I’m glad you’re feeling better and everything, but, uh, yeah,” His eyes were a controlled hurricane, circling and causing riot as every slight movement was danger.

“You texted me,” Steve’s voice was clipped now, like he was annoyed but something else was hidden in his voice and it seemed to match Bucky’s tension exactly.

“You didn’t text me, did you?” Steve whispered and Bucky was turning now, looking out behind him, checking his exits were still clear.

“No, I didn’t,” He muttered back, and now his temper was rising.

“Bucky, where are you?” Steve asked, picking up on Bucky’s hushed voice and the tone that made his hair stand up on end.

“Station parking lot. Someone’s here.” He heard the release of air over the phone and Steve trying to collect himself and he did feel a little guilty that he was making his friend worry when he should be resting but they got into a mess from Bucky hiding things and if they were texting Steve pretending to be Bucky then it obviously involved him too.

“Who?” Steve whispered back. Bucky didn’t have an answer so he remained silence, knowing Steve would understand.

“Bucky, please go back inside,” Steve begged so quietly Bucky would have missed it had he not been listening so intently and his stomach clenched at his tone.

Before Bucky could reply, however, a loud shuttering sound and a bright image appearing on the wall of the station, a projection coming from a building Bucky couldn’t see, made him curse loudly. Steve was all questions on the other end of the phone but Bucky couldn’t respond as he stared at Steve on the wall. The projection was Steve’s bedroom, with Steve pacing around his room on the phone, his lips matching the sounds Bucky could hear coming through the phone and he stopped breathing.

“Steve,” He gasped.

“Steve, they’ve got eyes on you.” He watched as Steve froze and started inspecting his room. He was about to approach the camera, eyes widening when Bucky saw a red dot appear on Steve’s chest and he nearly vomited.

“Steve, don’t move.” His friend froze, his face calm but his eyes filled with fear and Bucky cursed himself over and over again for getting Steve involved in all of this.

“I’ll fix this, stay still, whatever you do just please, God, just stay there, okay?” Bucky begged quietly.

“Okay,” Steve’s voice shook but he didn’t move, eyes fixed on the camera, knuckles white against the phone.

“I’m keeping you on the phone, okay, just hang on.”

Bucky stepped into the spotlight, keeping the phone against his ear, looking around him.

“What do you want?” He yelled, voice controlled but he saw Steve’s flinch on the projection and he held the phone down by his hip. He still couldn’t hear anything and his heart was beating hard in his ears and he worried it was hiding other sounds it was so distracting.

Another loud shutter and next to the projection of Steve images appeared, old looking sketches, little scribbles of what Bucky thought to be Italian, mixed with images of war in the style that Steve always seemed to be looking at. He brought the phone back to his ear, knowing this is what they wanted but he didn’t dare not play along with the red dot on poor Steve’s heaving chest.

“Steve, there’s, there’s pictures,”

“What?” He was panicking too.

“Being projected there’s pictures, like old sketches and writing in Italian I think, like big fans and tanks. I don’t know like, chariots and crossbows or something,” He heard Steve’s shallow breaths hitch.

“Da Vinci.” He replied, his eyes were still on the camera but his fear was more obvious now.

“What?” Bucky’s frustration was rising further now it was clear they were using Steve against him, making him necessary for them to communicate. He wanted Steve as far from these sick psychopaths as possible but the situation just went from 7 to a 10 in moments. A wrong move could get Steve killed and Bucky would literally die before he allowed that to happen.

“Those are Da Vinci’s sketches, his ideas for warfare that he drew up for the Duke of Milan,” Steve’s voice cracked and Bucky ground his teeth, itching to move, to not be a sitting duck literally standing in a spotlight for some unknown predator.

“How do you know?” Bucky asked carefully.

“Because, because I taught that today,” His breaths stuttered further and he was bound to be getting dizzy, he wasn’t strong enough for this ordinarily anyway, let alone after the episode he’d had. Bucky understood his new terror, this meant they were watching Steve, how did they know what he was teaching? How far ahead were they planning all of this? And sketches of war fare, was that a sign that they were taking this to the next level?

“Steve, breathe, slow down. I’ve got you, okay? I can see you, I can hear you,” Bucky tried to soothe.

“So can they,” Steve’s voice cracked and his jaw was tense and he glared into the camera with a ferocity that made Bucky’s chest swell with pride and fear.

“Well then they can hear this,” Bucky’s voice was dangerous and dark and he let out every dark feeling that differentiated him from Steve and hissed into the phone.

“If you fuckers think I’m going to let you hurt Steve and live,” He spoke clearly, slowly, clinically.

“You’re fucking deluding yourselves. If you dare do _anything_ to him, I will rip your limbs from your fucking bodies and make you suffer like you didn’t think was possible.”

“Bucky, stop.” Steve’s eyes were different now, he looked ashamed, like he blamed himself for this brutalised side to Bucky emerging but Bucky didn’t have it within himself to take back the words. They were true.

There was a long pause.

The images of Da Vinci’s sketches disappeared and were replaced with block text – instructions.

**Hang up the phone.**

**Throw away the phone and the taser.**

**Get onto the ground.**

**Wait.**

**Do not struggle when they come.**

Bucky gulped against the phone. He looked back to Steve and the red dot was still present.

“Leave him alone first.” Bucky demanded and saw the confusion flicker across Steve’s face as he heard the one-sided conversation.

The red dot disappeared from Steve’s chest and the camera died. Bucky let out a breath of relief so heavy an odd sound emerged and he nearly fell off balance.

“Steve, get out of your flat and to some place safe, don’t tell anyone. Don’t look for me, do you understand?”

“Bucky, what the fuck are you talking about, I’m not–”

“Just do it, Steve!” He yelled.

“What are you doing, Bucky?”

“It doesn’t matter, look, I’ll be alright, but it’s all pointless if you aren’t okay, please, get somewhere safe.”

“I will, Buck, but what–”

“Good. Thank you. Stay safe.” He hung up and threw the phone without hesitation, desperate to have said more in case they didn’t get to speak again but refusing to let that conversation be overheard by some faceless presence.

He hurriedly threw away the taser a good distance and reluctantly got down onto the ground. The gravel against his bare skin was painful and the dust made him want to cough. He locked down on any feelings of fear that threatened to leak out when he began to hear footsteps and kept his line of vision firmly on the ground directly by his face.

Gradually, black boots came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, I'm getting excited to start putting all the plot points into play. Sorry about the cliffhanger, necessary evil. Please let me know what you thought it really motivates me and I love to hear from you. Until next time chaps xx


	12. Pleasant Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it's kicking off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update, I'm home now but wifi is broken, I'm updating over my phone which is terrible. Trigger warning - torture and upsetting scenes. I hope you like this, please comment with thoughts, theories and how you liked what's starting to happen. Also trust me, I know what I'm doing and I love these characters but hurting them is sometimes necessary I'm sorry!

Bucky woke up with a splitting ache resonating around his skull. He didn’t open his eyes, letting himself establish his surroundings. The absence of warm sheets, the familiar woody scent of his headboard and the lack of sound was jarring. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs yet but tried not to panic about that and figure out where he was.

Breathing deeply he smelt something like burnt metal and sawdust so perhaps this was some kind of factory. His head, as far as he could tell, wasn’t against the floor, in fact he recognised what was pressing into his cheek was his own shoulder which meant he was upright. As if prompted by his figuring this out he suddenly began to feel a stinging pain encircling his wrists in an awkward position behind him. Something sharp was also demanding his attention as it dug into his biceps. So he was tied to a chair, fantastic.

Oddly enough his legs felt fine, he’d expected those to be tied as well. It didn’t make much difference as he felt weak and dazed, like he hadn’t eaten for too long. A scary thought piqued in his mind as he wondered how long he’d been here, out cold. He couldn’t decide what was worse, being here with the psychopaths or being left to starve to death. Obviously being tortured was not ideal but if he was going to die he’d be going out with a fight. If he was going to die. There it was – the charming thought he’d been trying to avoid, still, it was highly likely considering the cliché but self-explanatory circumstances he was in.

His head was still hurting but it helped to clear his foggy mind. He couldn’t remember anything beyond the black boots in the car park, how long ago had that been? God, how long has Steve been wondering if he’s still alive? He bit down on the inside of his mouth to focus; he needed to treat this like he would any fire he dived into, professionally and without distractions. He could think about Steve later, right now he should probably be concerning himself with the rope holding his wrists together.

Listening carefully was difficult with his heartbeat in his ears but he couldn’t hear anything giving away that he had an audience. Slowly and carefully he began easing his wrists against the rope, struggling against the friction, feeling his fingers slow reactions as the blood flow had been cut off by how tight the rope was.

“He’s conscious.” A rough voice announced and Bucky froze, cursing himself. A heavy set of footsteps approached him and he waited for them to do something to him. However they started would set the precedent for how they’d go on. Hands grabbed his wrists and forced them up, he yelled as they put pressure on them. After a few agonising seconds they released them and Bucky felt his hands throb as blood tried to mend the damage in a panic. A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up.

“You want to open those pretty eyes or shall I break your wrists?” The voice was low and gravelly but in an unpleasant way, like he’d gargled acid and there was a sadistic curve to it that suggested to Bucky this man would very much enjoy causing him pain. Play along; he thought to himself, for now, just play along. He blinked his eyes open, vision adjusting to the low lit room he was in.

It looked like an abandoned warehouse with old machinery littering the enormous space, the only windows were high up and dirtied by time, letting a pitiable amount off light in, but light was light, it was day time and that was important. If Bucky could keep up with the sun in the sky he could tell how long he’d been here for and keep some sense of time passing.

A man stepped into his line of vision and it was one of those rare occasions when someone’s voice fit their appearance completely. He was unnervingly large, his wrists looked as thick as his neck and his eyes looked dull and black in the poor light. He had a dirty suit on that looked several years old and very worn, the boots he remembered. His hair was an ashy brown and dirty as well as patchy. He must have been at least 45 years old and appeared as if he’d lived a life of preferring torture to taking a shower.

Bucky imagined his name to be something like Brick or Anger, something original like that. Wow, even in a hostage situation he was sarcastic; it didn’t bode well for his likelihood of survival if he was laughing at his internal monologue in front of the human personification of a tank.

He was tied to a sturdy wooden chair with thick legs and a stubbornly hard back that was increasingly uncomfortable. He was, thankfully, still fully dressed so at least things hadn’t taken that weird of a turn. It’s the little things.

“What’s your name?” The man asked with a smug smile. It was an obvious test to see if he was going to ‘co-operate’. Frankly, it pissed him off; it was like this was Brick’s routine and he had our other people to intimidate before he could grab some lunch and Bucky’s natural defiance sat up a little straighter. He refused to be easy even if it would help him in the long run they may as well cut to the chase – he was never going to agree to whatever bullshit terms they’d try and break him into going along with.

“I’m award-winning actor Johnny Depp, you may have heard of me,” Bucky croaked, his eyes challenging as he squared his jaw for the punch saw coming. The man punched with his full weight but didn’t lose balance, he’d obviously been trained. It was the sort of punch that made Bucky’s head feel like it should be spinning in circles on top of his neck and as it was he had whiplash and the very chair he was on tipped back and held its balance for a second before slamming back down, making Bucky’s head loll down onto his chest for a moment.

“I liked you in Rango,” Brick (that was his name now) replied, a tinge of humour in his voice and Bucky coughed a small laugh as he slowly raised his head and quickly received another brutal punch and then another and two or three more before Brick relented. He raised his head again, ignoring the blood seeping from his nose and the throbbing along his cheekbone. Brick seemed to be sizing him up and he turned and walked over to one of the machines which had an assortment of tools on that Bucky couldn’t make out from the distance.

Images of needles and saws flickered through his mind in some montage of nightmarish scenarios this could quickly escalate into. Bucky struggled to slow his breathing down, he needed to save his adrenaline and energy for when he really needed it, they’d barely started. Brick was examining his options, picking a few up and then changing his mind before finally deciding on a silver knuckleduster that he smiled as he put on.

He walked back over, cracking his knuckles under the metal and Bucky suppressed a gulp, keeping eye contact and not staring at the new silver addition to his capturer. Bucky remembered someone tell him once if you’re ever scared or challenged, let yourself feel the floor beneath your feet and ground yourself, breathe through your feet and let it keep you solid because it’s the one constant variable in any situation. He pushed his feet into the ground and was reassured by it pushing back, he could always push off from it and strangely it gave him an underlying confidence in his fear. The man was oblivious to his renewed strength.

“What’s your name?” He repeated, running his fingers over the knuckledusters adorning his other hand.

“You’ve probably got it written here somewhere, don’t worry,” Bucky deadpanned, happy with the strength in his voice. Brick seemed happy at the chance to test out his toy. He gunned his fist into Bucky’s abdomen, winding him and when Bucky doubled over he punched a hard line across Bucky’s jaw and Bucky muffled a yell, wincing as he felt the sting of air on torn skin. Blood was gushing down his neck and he realised too late that the knuckledusters had some sharp jagged metal on it and it tore through his skin like a knife through butter. He then punched Bucky again, this time catching his lips on the ragged shards of metal and Bucky choked the cry of pain that tried to rise up his throat as blood poured from his lips.

This routine continued, for how long Bucky didn’t know. Brick would repeat the question and Bucky was give him some wise crack and await the crack of the next bone Brick would target. Occasionally, Bucky would get a few blissful moments where he lost consciousness and he let himself drift between daydreams of lunch at his Mother’s dinner table, Steve’s laugh when he was tired, his team bickering in the break room or Clint and Natasha joking back and forth. Then he’d get ripped back to the warehouse and Brick would ask the same question and Bucky would give the first unhelpful answer that came into his head.

“What is your name?” Brick said leaning close to Bucky, he seemed frustrated and disappointed at the lack of reaction he was getting. Bucky’s head felt both heavy and light as he lifted it to meet the other man’s eye, his head was spinning and yet somehow felt like an anvil, weighting him to the chair.

“Whatever you want it to be, sugar,” He said and spat some blood into Brick’s face which earned him a gash under his eye and another lungful of air to leave him without warning. Feel the floor, feel the floor, Bucky recited to himself in his mind, his feet pushed against the floor and he felt an odd wave of relief when it didn’t move and supported his weight. He could tell Brick was getting really aggravated now and Bucky wondered if he was on a time limit. The thought made excitement flash down the length of his weary spine, if that was the case all he had to do was keep stalling and something would change and help him, maybe buy him some time.

A phone ringing from inside Brick’s pocket took them both by surprise. The sound was so normal it was enough to make Bucky want to cry with happiness because this meant the real world was not so far from where he was. Surely people were looking for him, Steve was safe, this guy would get nothing from him, whatever happened he was finally doing something to keep people safe because he was sitting here instead of someone else on his squad. He was doing the right thing and that was enough to make him feel better about his shirt getting soaked with blood.

Brick answered the phone and spoke in angry hushed whispers but Bucky was careful to check his breathing and listen to what was being said.

“He’s not breaking,” Bucky overheard as he pretended to drift between states of lucidity.

“No, please, Sir, that won’t be necessary, I can get it out of him,” Brick sounded panicked and Bucky took some sadistic satisfaction from the fact that he was scared and under someone’s thumb even if that person was ordering him to be tortured – semantics.

“With respect, that’s dangerous, what if I don’t have time to get out, what if they find –” Brick was cut off mid-uneasy sentence.

“Of – of course, I understand, yes, Sir, I can handle that.” He grit out and Bucky was uneasy at the idea that this psychopath was uncomfortable with whatever he was being asked to do to Bucky. When Brick replaced the phone into his jacket pocket Bucky had expected him to come and do a number on him, maybe pull a gun out, the works. He surprised him by dragging a table over a couple of metres from Bucky and preparing equipment on it that Bucky couldn’t see.

Something that looked like a war time radio and countless cables were assembled, connected to somewhere he couldn’t see. Finally a laptop was set up and suddenly Bucky could see himself reflected on the screen from the detachable camera perched on top of the laptop’s screen. He looked like shit but he saw his own face sink in realisation of what was happening. Oh God, this was really happening.

It was exactly 2:30, 24 hours since Bucky was taken when it happened.

In the large police meeting room sat Steve, Howard, Dum Dum, who’d come back feeling guilty for leaving Bucky on the danger shift only to find him gone, Fury, Sam Wilson, who’d insisted on not leaving Steve and had somehow blagged his way into the room, Natasha, who came when Bucky hadn’t returned from his shift and found Steve a complete mess, three police constables and about five members of whatever secretive operation Fury had connections to.

They were all dotted around the room. Steve had been asked every question under the sun at least six times and Howard had been screamed at and might have lost his job, Steve wasn’t sure. The officials were talking and after nearly 48 hours without sleep Steve was losing his concentration, only half-listening.

“–expecting this to happen, this is good, now we have a lead.” One of the officials’ words managed to sink through Steve’s detached state of mind and he snapped.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” He exploded, leaping up from his chair and storming over to the man, intimidating even in his small stature.

“He could be dead, how dare you call this a good thing, he could be dead, he could be–” He choked on his words and Natasha and Sam were suddenly in front of him, Sam was pulling him away with calming words whilst Natasha stared down the man, the glint in her eyes terrifying and the man’s apology fell on deaf ears.

“Steve, you gotta’ calm down, man,” Sam was whispering.

“Why should I, they’re treating this like Bucky’s just a pawn in whatever fucking game is being played,” Steve objected.

“He needs to leave, he’s too close to this,” Another nameless suit piped up, eyeing Steve with disapproval.

“Try and get me to leave,” Steve growled and Sam sighed, worry in his expression.

“Steve saw the whole thing, they used him to communicate, we need him here for when they try and make contact again, which they will.” Natasha said firmly and nodded at Steve’s look of appreciation.

That was when the large screen on the wall of the room lit up, went to static and then an image that would haunt Steve for years to come appeared in HD on the sickeningly large screen. People were rushing about trying to figure out how everything had turned on by itself but Steve had never been more still.

Though Bucky was a little way from the camera he was lined up perfectly and the camera was clearly good quality, he could catch the little movements of Bucky’s chest as he puffed in breaths. Steve saw he choke on one of them and felt his heart stutter a little in agony.

“Oh God, no,” He whispered and Sam squeezed his shoulder but Steve barely registered it.

People were talking and yelling and talking on phones and tapping away on various devices, Natasha looked like she was doing something important, Dum Dum and Stark were pacing, frustrated that they couldn’t help and Sam was watching Steve who still hadn’t moved from where he stood, directly in front of the screen.

“What do they want?” Steve asked and the room fell silent with his words. No one knew.

“Read.” The voice made everyone jump as it came loud and clear from the screen but they couldn’t see who’d spoken. Bucky was glaring fiercely at something behind the camera and Steve’s heart swelled as he saw his friend fighting this. He’d been at these people’s mercy for 24 hours and he was so beaten down but he wasn’t broken.

“Speak.” The voice commanded and Steve shivered. People were whispering about recordings and voice recognition but all Steve could see was Bucky and his angry eyes that Steve adored so much.

“Bite me.” Bucky’s voice made Steve unconsciously step forwards. It appeared he wasn’t the only one this had an effect on as someone walked around the camera with a mask covering from their nose upwards and went towards Bucky who didn’t react. Steve’s palms were sweaty and his heart was thudding furiously, terrified. The man grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s hair and tugged his head to the side, exposing his neck and to everyone’s shock he sank his teeth into Bucky’s neck, blood spilling out with ease.

Bucky screamed out unable to help reacting to such pain and Steve yelled despite it doing nothing. The masked man finally stopped and Bucky’s head was released, falling onto his chest and his stuttered breaths grew more obvious and pronounced. The man walked back around the camera, leaving Bucky alone on the screen.

“Speak, or your boyfriend has to watch more.”

Everyone stopped moving at that. Except Bucky whose head raised slowly, a new ferocity in his eyes that took Steve by surprise. They were talking about him and it had got a reaction out of Bucky.

“What is it with you fuckers and cameras,” Bucky wheezed.

“Now you talk. 24 hours and nothing but now you talk. Maybe I should’ve taken your boyfriend instead, he would break quick I’m sure,” There was an edge to the voice like the man was smiling.

“You shut your fucking mouth, you don’t get to talk about him you piece of shit!” Bucky roared and Steve’s mouth and throat were dry and useless to protest. He was provoking Bucky and it was working. Bucky’s chest was heaving and his teeth were bared and he looked wild and feral.

“Read this or I’ll make him watch whilst I rip you apart.” The masked man spat, his voice harsh across the speakers.

“Steve, if you’re there don’t watch, get out right now, don’t watch this, leave–” Bucky was saying quickly but the man stormed around the camera and punched him in the gut heavily, then slamming his elbow into Bucky’s chest and the audible crack made Steve choke in a gasp at the same time as Bucky.

“Steve,” Sam started but Steve shook his head aggressively.

“I’m not leaving him.” He dismissed.

“He can’t see you,” One of the suits said.

“I don’t give a shit, he knows I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Steve grit out angrily. This was his fault, they took Bucky instead of Steve, he should be in that chair and Bucky should be safe, he’d be damned if he left Bucky alone and in pain.

“We’re tracing the signal.” Came Fury’s voice and it was a poorly veiled command for the others to stand down and let Steve remain in the room.

“Why are they making Bucky read it, why don’t they just read it?” Dum Dum asked, his nerves tangible.

“It’s a power play.” Natasha said quietly, her face betraying nothing but Steve could see emotion in her eyes as she avoided looking at the large screen and kept her eyes on the computer she was tapping away on.

“He’s the squad leader, if he breaks, you all do.” She said, matter-of-a-fact.

“So that’s what this has all been about, just bringing the 107th down.” Fury confirmed quietly.

“What if he doesn’t?” Came Howard’s voice, grim. Natasha just shook her head, not raising her eyes from the laptop.

“Read the fucking card.” The masked man’s voice was back and it was dangerous, a little panicked and it made Steve wonder if he wasn’t running out of time, and if Bucky knew this.

Bucky just sat there, catching his breath, letting his eyes pierce through his weary and broken exterior and they said more in one look than he could ever say verbally. Steve didn’t know what to do or what to hope. A selfish part of him wanted Bucky to just read the card so they wouldn’t hurt him and he could have a chance of them letting him go. A more realistic part of him knew, however, even if Bucky did talk which was next to impossible, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t just kill him – the thought made his nerve endings react unpleasantly, it repelled him to his core.

“Steve when I say, speak into this,” Natasha handed him a small panel with a microphone in it which had a cord that attached to her laptop.

“Saying what?” He breathed.

“Whatever you need to.” She said firmly, her gaze familiar and unyielding and he nodded shakily.

“Okay now.” She muttered and he nodded again, swallowing hard.

“B-Bucky,” Steve said, unsure. Everyone else in the room stopped their dashing around, staring dumbstruck, realising Natasha had single-handedly done what they had all been trying to do in mere minutes – she’d traced and connected them to the call. A couple of them began to phone people, sending men to go and storm the building now they knew the location but they needed to stall the man on the camera and not spook him into thinking anything was wrong.

Bucky’s head snapped up and he looked horrified. He was shaking his head already, teeth grit, his nightmare playing out in front of him.

“That’s him, isn’t it? Excellent.” The masked man behind the camera replied, clearly excited at the prospect of using Steve against him.

“Talk to him, say your goodbyes maybe?” He chuckled and Bucky’s jaw went tense.

Steve was feeling nauseous again, not sure whether or not to speak. He desperately wanted to reassure Bucky, he wanted to tell him that he’d do everything and anything and get him home. He wanted to say he wouldn’t leave, he’d be with him always, and he didn’t have to face this alone. He wanted to tell him he loved him and that he’s sorry everything had been so messed up but it was simple and they’d been dancing around each other and Steve knew what he wanted now. But with Bucky strapped to a chair and bleeding, out of reach, it might do him more harm than good. He needed to be smart, they needed to be smart. Bucky already knew that, he’d kept his mouth shut.

Bucky’s brow was furrowed, not in pain but in concentration. He must be thinking along the same lines as he was, Steve was sure of it. Everyone was waiting for one of them to speak and both was concentrating, trying to find a way to communicate without playing into the hands of the masked man and whoever he was working with. Suddenly, Bucky looked up with determination and an obvious attempt to focus even in his state.

“Speak, go on.” The masked man taunted and Bucky grit his teeth, not looking away from the camera.

“Pao–” Bucky choked and coughed up some blood, making Steve wince and the man behind the camera laugh, but still no one spoke over him.

“Paolo Uccello.” Bucky said slowly, his voice cracking but his eyes not wavering. A murmur of question ran through the room. Sam shushed them, seeing Steve’s mind whirring away.

“The Battle of San Romano,” Bucky went on, determined.

“1438 or 39 I can’t, I can’t remember,” Bucky’s breath was weak as he spoke but he was pushing the words out with clarity he shouldn’t have been capable of.

“What are you talking about? What does that mean?” The masked man demanded but Bucky didn’t look at him, he just stared at the camera, at Steve, it was as if they were in the same room. He was pleading with his eyes that Steve remembered.

“Steve, what’s he talking about? Does that mean anything to you?” Dum Dum asked, impatient. Everyone shushed him as the mic was still on and Steve still hadn’t spoken. Bucky looked like hope was leaving his eyes, like maybe the message hadn’t reached Steve or he didn’t know what it meant or what it had meant to them.

“What a load of shit.” Steve surprised everyone by saying into the mic, carefully and Bucky stopped for a minute before sagging in relief, a small unintentional smile gracing his features for the first time. Steve wanted to keep talking, to start yelling, saying of course he remembered, of course he did, as if he could forget moments with Bucky for anything in the world, nothing was more important than the snapshots they shared. However, his mind was working fast, deciphering Bucky’s words quickly.

“What the fuck does that mean? Is it code?” The masked man was shouting at Bucky who kept quiet, staring at the camera.

“The mic’s off, Steve, what the hell was he talking about, the battle of san romano, what is that?” Natasha queried hurriedly. Steve turned to them to try and explain.

“We were just kids,” He tried.

“What?” Sam looked tired.

“Buck and me, we were just kids, it was a piece of artwork, the first piece of renaissance study I showed him, I was obsessed.”

“How the fuck is this relevant?” Howard snapped and Dum Dum thumped him to shut him up and motioned Steve to continue, clearly still in the dark with everyone else in the room as to what he was talking about.

“It is a code.” Natasha sounded like she understood, thank goodness.

“What code?” Fury demanded, sounding aggravated.

“It’s a painting of a battle but it wasn’t some gritty realism piece, it was pompous, warfare shown as pageantry, pretentious, ceremonial. We’d talked about it for ages. Our Dads were both killed in wars I was so mad that someone would paint it like this, I was just a kid,” Steve started to explain, keeping one eye on the screen, happy to see Bucky not cracking.

“I was crying, I was so affected by this painting and I said something like, what if my Dad is some corpse in someone’s painting and Bucky, he said to me, ‘What a load of shit’.” Steve laughed in spite of himself at the memory.

“I still don’t understand, why’s he talking about it now?” Sam asked.

“The painting was of this glorious battle, of Florence’s defeating Siena but it was politically motivated, the battle wasn’t what was important, it was propaganda, just a distraction from the real horror,” Steve was thinking as he was speaking, trying to figure out why Bucky wanted him to think about this now.

“So what?” Howard pushed, at his wits end with the art history lesson.

“Natasha, turn the mic back on,” Steve instructed and Natasha didn’t have to be told twice.

“Steve, what are you going to do?” Sam asked, worried but Steve just shook his head. Bucky had to know he understood.

“It’s a decoy, whatever this is, the camera, the set up, it’s a distraction and Buck knows it but he needs us to know it without letting those men know that we know, they’ve got something else planned.” Steve’s head was starting to hurt.

“How are you going to let him know that we know it’s a decoy, without letting that guy know that we know that,” Dum Dum asked, looked confused at the question he just asked.

“I’m going to say distraction without saying distraction,” He muttered, to the confusion of everyone in the room, but no one said anything as Natasha passed him the panel microphone and he lifted it up to his mouth.

“You faint and I’ll get the pie.” He said, hating these cherished words being said in this situation but Bucky’s face lit up when he heard them. When they were kids and snuck around Mrs Barnes kitchen hoping to steal some of her famous apple pie, Steve would always pretend to faint whilst Bucky stole a slice or two.

“Yes, exactly!” He choked out, relief flooding his features again.

“What the fuck does that mean?” The masked man appeared to have had enough with the cryptic back and forth. He stormed around the camera and Bucky’s alarm made sense when the large serrated knife the man was holding came into view.

He went around the back of the chair Bucky was on, gesturing the knife towards Bucky as he yelled into his ear.

“What does that mean?” Bucky’s blood-stained face didn’t move and he stared stoically at the ground, preparing himself.

Natasha had turned off the mic and taken it away much to Steve’s displeasure but people were yelling into phones and talking about strike units and forceful entry and Steve began to panic.

“They need to go in now or he’ll hurt him!” Steve yelled but no one was listening to him except Sam who couldn’t do anything to help.

“You, tell me what that means or I’ll gut him with this!” The masked man yelled, brandishing the knife to punctuate his point, staring into the camera.

“Give me the microphone!” Steve yelled and Dum Dum slid his arms around Steve’s, holding him back before Steve could realise what he was doing.

“Get the fuck off of me, Natasha, please give me the mic, please!” He was screaming and Dum Dum was telling him to calm down and Natasha was apologising but they weren’t doing anything.

“I’m not fucking bluffing, I’ll do it!” The man shouted bringing the knife closer to Bucky and Steve screamed and screamed, struggling with everything he had against Dum Dum.

“Don’t tell him anything, Steve!” Bucky suddenly yelled and the masked man plunged the knife into Bucky’s shoulder, twisting it and making Bucky let out a scream of pure agony.

“No!” Tears streamed down Steve’s face.

“Bucky! No!” He screamed over and over again and Dum Dum had tears on his face as he held on tightly to Steve. Sam looked ashen as he tried to stop Steve kicking.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry,” Dum Dum was saying and Steve screamed at him, all he could do was scream and Bucky’s blood began to pool on the floor around his feet. The room was deafening as half of it was commanding the teams going in to rescue Bucky and the other half tried to control a hysterical Steve.

“Bucky! Bucky!” Steve knew he couldn’t hear him but he wasn’t moving, his head was still against his chest which wasn’t moving either. The masked man was yelling at the camera but no one could hear him.

Suddenly the screen went dead and Steve released a gut-wrenching howl of agony, sinking to the ground and Dum Dum let him, knowing the fight had left him now.

“The strike team have entered the building...” One of the officials said loudly and Steve stared at him, waiting.

“Kidnapper apprehended, hostage is being taken out of the building,” She continued.

“Is he alive?” Steve choked out. There was a horrific pause as everyone waited for a response over the phone.

“...No pulse.” The woman said with condolence written all over her face.

No pulse.

Steve curled up into himself.

No pulse.

He began to sob uncontrollably.

No pulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you thought, comments are love, updates soon! xx


	13. Don't Hold Your Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is a fighter. But fighting is really, really hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first - wow! The response to my last chapter was insane, the comments were fantastic and made it impossible not to sit and write the next chapter. I'm sorry I broke so many hearts but from an author's perspective it's very flattering so thanks! This chapter is dedicated entirely to Bucky's medical experience. Fluff inclusive because I love you guys - please keep commenting and reading it's honestly so amazing! Okay, I hope you enjoy. (p.s broken heart syndrome is actually real and any facts I got, though a little dramatised, I'll source in the end notes but you can google it as well) (p.p.s please forgive medical slip up, I'm not a doctor, I'm actually super squeamish so there's that)

Bucky Barnes has very nearly died on three occasions.

The first had been on holiday to the seaside with his family and Steve. 12 year old Bucky was stubborn and proud enough to stick to his story that _of course_ he could swim, thank you very much, he’s the best swimmer in the neighbourhood.

Had Steve not practically dragged three lifeguards into the ocean Bucky would have undoubtedly drowned. He remembered being pulled under by the undulating waves and can recall thinking they looked much calmer from the shore before he blacked out. He came to on the warm sand spluttering up half of the Atlantic whilst his Mother cried in relief and hugged him and scolded him whilst Steve hugged Becca, reassuring her that her stupid big brother was alive and would be fine. Both boys were grounded for a month but neither cared and Steve had made him promise to both get swimming lessons and never swim again and Bucky had laughed and agreed.

The second time they were older and were helping old Mrs Leonard down the street bring her furniture down to put into the moving van on the street. They’d finished with the TV and little appliances and chairs and Bucky had mocked Steve a little that his support was more moral than physical as he didn’t have the strength to really hold anything. Steve was pissed and when Bucky was sitting at the bottom of the steps, having a quick drink, he heard the loud thump of the sofa that had been on the landing, shifting down some steps.

He was on his feet and up the two flights so quickly he felt dizzy, he just managed to get a hold of the situation as Steve struggled to keep a hold on the sofa he was trying to handle alone. One slip had Steve tumbling down the stairs and Bucky just had time to roughly shove Steve out of the way before the sofa hit him square and slammed him into the drywall which crumbled easily under the combined weight.

He’d broken two ribs, took a couple of hours to come round and had narrowly avoided a punctured lung which would have likely killed him but Steve acted as if he’d done just that. That’s when Bucky really berated him for being so stupid but also apologised for provoking him to doing something so dangerous. He’d said how glad he was that he got hit and not Steve and Steve hadn’t spoken to him for a full day he was so furious. They made up when they both agreed to stop being idiots.

The third time Bucky was on a cold operating table as paramedics and surgeons worked desperately to shoot electricity into his heart and get it to respond. Every flash of light, maybe seconds apart, maybe hours, brought with it remnants of waves crushing him and a leather weight suffocating him. It was ironic that his near-death experiences weren’t in fires, not that he hadn’t had a few close calls.

Oddly, he couldn’t feel any pain now but some small and fading voice told him he shouldn’t be thankful for this. The voice was annoying him, telling him to stay awake, telling him to focus, to fight. He wanted to sleep, he’d been exhausted for so long. He had a vague inclination that following the voice would bring pain, more pain. What was the point in that when he could just sleep? Did it really matter whether he woke up or not, really?

His foggy mind drifted and couldn’t find any reason to strive to move his heart. There didn’t seem to be any reason, anything strong enough to provoke his heart and Bucky couldn’t feel anything but it was nice being so numb after everything. A beating heart felt overrated in his cold, calm. What did hearts even beat for, he forgets now.

~~~~~~

“Steve, you aren’t ready for this, just stop for a second–” Sam yelled from where he was trying to keep up as Steve sprinted down the corridors of the hospital emergency room.

He’s not sure when anguish morphed into anger but it happened and it happened fast. Steve was a walking medical anomaly, he should’ve died a thousand times over and he was still going, Bucky didn’t get to tap out. That selfish bastard was risking everything constantly for Steve, had he even contemplated the tatters Steve’s life would be in if he left it.

No pulse.

“Fuck that,” Steve muttered and he ran, faster than his lungs would like as they heaved in protest.

He had no idea which direction to go and was relieved when he saw what looked like a reception desk. He staggered into it, startling the elderly woman sitting behind it as she peered over her glasses at Steve.

“Barnes,” He choked, the name tasting terrifying on his tongue.

“James Barnes, where is he?” Present tense kept his knees from buckling again. The woman looked ready to question him, this was likely not allowed but apparently something in Steve’s face made her swallow her own words and she tapped away at her computer, squinting at the screen and Steve itched in his desperation. It took all he had not to yell but she was trying to help.

“The ER, he’s in theatre right now, Surgery Room 4 on the East corridor, past the fracture clinic and turn left at the X-Ray room. They won’t let you in,” She added in warning.

“Thank you, Amy,” Steve tacked on the end and she smiled professionally and waved him off.

As he ran full pelt in this direction of the surgery room, Steve’s mind tried to trip him up with images of Bucky in a body bag or staring with lifeless eyes that would never sparkle at Steve again. He was haunted by the thought of Bucky’s lips losing their colour, his mouth going slack, his smile only a token of memory now, never to be seen fresh again.

“Steve!” Sam shouted from where he was trying to dodge doctors and patients further down the corridor, he couldn’t slip through crowds like Steve could. Steve didn’t stop running, he knew what Sam was scared of and Steve was terrified of it too, finding Bucky dead or worse, watching him die if he hadn’t already but if there was the slightest chance he could live or that Steve being there could help he needed to be in that room.

If he lingered on the what ifs he was going to pass out from the stress, he just had to get to him. How did Bucky live like this? Running around after Steve every time he got hurt or threw himself into some dangerous, life-threatening situation? Since Bucky was a firefighter and even before then, he’d always given off this vibe of invincibility, like nothing was enough to take him out, he always came out swinging. A lifetime of pulling Steve out of scrapes and leaping into burning buildings made it feel impossible that he could get really hurt.

Steve should get a write-off for every back alley fight and dangerous endeavour after this. His chest shook with his rattling breath as every disapproving look Bucky had ever given him whilst he cleaned him up from his latest escapade came rushing back and it was too much to give up. Bucky was too much to give up. Maybe Steve was selfish but he’d tried living a life without Bucky and whilst it was doable, he wouldn’t choose it and he refused to let someone take him away.

He saw the sign for the X-Ray room and skidded left down the corridor and he could already see stretchers and paramedics dashing around at the end of the hall. Sam had caught up to him however, as they crowds had dwindled and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Steve, just stop and think for a minute,” Sam said desperately.

“He wouldn’t,” Steve said breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion and Sam hesitated but let go of his arm and nodded reluctantly, running with his friend now. He had to use his inhaler as he ran, not advisable, but anything to keep his lungs from completely giving in, in this fucking labyrinth of a hospital.

Finally they reached the doors of Surgery Room 4 and one of the doctors on hand approached them, ready to stop them but Sam pulled him away gesturing to Steve to carry on and find Bucky inside. Slamming his body weight onto the heavy doors he was frustrated that it opened into another corridor, why was this place so big? Running past nurses with clipboards and tablets, he heard snippets of conversation.

“...the knife scored the underlying bone...”

“...lucky if function could be restored...”

“...his heartbeat was irregular in the ambulance...”

“...mostly superficial but could’ve triggered...”

“...really rare cardiomyopathy...”

Some of it sounded hopeful, some of it sounded condemning and other parts just sounded like medical jargon but Steve tried to remember some of the phrases they were using so he could ask later. When Bucky recovered.

 “Excuse me, you can’t be in here, sir!” Someone called after him and an apology died on his lips as he rounded a corner and a huge operating theatre was in front of him and the man on the table looked suspiciously like Bucky. He could only see one of Bucky’s arms, the rest was covered by doctors leaning over and around him, working frantically, but Steve had seen that arm and drawn its detail hundreds of times and would know it anywhere.

“Buck,” He breathed.

Doctors and nurses were starting to notice he was there, the surgeons were yelling something, probably to get him out of the room but he could barely hear anything.

“Should I call it?” One of the doctors asked and Steve felt his own heart tremor and the all the air left the room.

“Not yet, he’s not gone yet,” Another responded fiercely and Steve could have married that man was he not operating on Steve’s first choice. Two doctors were attempting to pull him from the room and talk to him but he resolutely didn’t acknowledge them.

“You’ve gotta’ fight, son!” The same doctor yelled as he shot electricity into Bucky’s chest and it heaved under the machine but still no pulse.

“Bucky Barnes, don’t you dare give up!” Steve roared, surprising everyone and himself with the volume and strength in his voice. The doctor shouted ‘clear’ once more and slammed the defibrillator onto Bucky’s bruised chest once more and the resounding beep that filled the room prompted Steve to let out a delighted and panicked laugh in triumph but the heartbeat wasn’t regular and it kept starting and stopping until it stopped again.

“He’s flat lining,” A nameless voice called out.

“For fuck sake Bucky, fight!” Steve screamed, furious now, Bucky would not quit and get away with it. The beeps came again, stronger now and doctors were rushing around with new tools, addressing his heart and his other injuries and frightening hope started to swell in Steve’s chest.

“If you die, I’ll fucking kill you!” Steve yelled again and the beeping came back and stayed this time, strong and loud and clear and beautifully regular and people were yelling to get Steve out of the room with real insistence now. Two large men in scrubs came to escort him out.

“He’s in good hands,” A nurse said with a determined look on his face and Steve decided he trusted that look, it wasn’t false hope, they’d brought his heart back. The men started pulling him away from the room and he let them but shouted out one last thing before he was pulled out of sight.

“Fight, Buck!”

~~~~~~

Something stirred, something distant. His foggy mind cleared and sharp pain stabbed through in its place and Bucky regretted trying to concentrate. However, the distant stirring returned, stronger this time and it tugged at him and made him want to move his heart, this was important somehow.

He started to become aware that he should be feeling parts of his body; he’s attached to something, not just floating. He was vaguely cognisant that his arms and legs were present but he couldn’t dream to feel them let alone move them. That’s how he recognised that whatever was stirring, it was happening in his chest. No sooner did he make this discovery then did he start to feel a crushing pressure on his head, like the waves and the sofa and infinitely more crushing him and if he could just move, just get his heart to do something, he could relieve the pressure.

He wanted to yell, to claw at his surroundings, to beg people to help him, to do something but even his thoughts were slow and dulled as they fought his panic and tried to drag him back to his cold, calm. It was at that moment that the stirring something twisted and was suddenly a razor blade being rammed into his chest and if he could’ve screamed he would have. He couldn’t hear anything and didn’t know what was happening but the pain that screamed at him from his chest started reverberating down his nerve endings and veins and he became aware of the ends of his limbs and where his feet started and where his shoulders stopped.

The pressure onto his head was blinding, he would’ve squeezed his eyes shut if he could find where they were in this mess that was his body. It was so bright and he could feel, still, the pull from the cold calm and it would be easy to shut down but he wanted to know where this pressure was coming from and what was stirring in his chest so painfully so he pushed into the blinding building pain.

He pushed the sofa off of his crushed chest and fought the waves that wanted him to drown and pushed and pushed, desperate to surface, to gulp in air like the gorgeous commodity it really was. He could feel he was near the surface but he was weak and his essence was begging him to just let go, resign himself to the easy fate with no consequences or pain but he couldn’t. For some reason he needed to get past the sofa and away from the waves, something important was behind them and he would get to it if he could only push past these distractions.

A flash of cold water seemed to shoot through him like a bullet and he saw Steve, struggling on the stairs, face down on frosty grass, trying to breathe in the back of an ambulance. The images flocked around the razor pain in his chest and he dived for it, wrapping his consciousness around the safety of the only thing he could make sense of as good. The pressure suddenly eased and the razor faded into a warm comforting throb and the pain washed easily out of his spine and out through his fingertips. Relief congratulated him for his effort and he wished he could laugh because this was right, he’d been right.

~~~~~

They operated on Bucky for nearly 14 hours, surgeons swapping in and out occasionally.

Steve sat out in the corridor, resolutely staying awake in case anything changed, asking anyone who came out for information, always getting the same answer that they were trying to stabilise him. Sam came by and told him Chancellor Devon had found out about Bucky’s kidnap and his medical bills would all be taken care of but Steve could barely manage a thank you because who cared about money when Bucky still wasn’t breathing on his own and his heart was struggling with every beat to keep going.

Natasha and Clint came by with food, Bucky’s favourites, Clint even brought ramen and a CD labelled ‘Sulky Soul Music’ and smiled sadly at Steve. Nat had asked if Steve wanted them to stay and he just shrugged, too exhausted to speak, so they did for a while, and Sam joined them for a stretch. The four of them sat in silence outside the operating room for at least two hours before Natasha said she was going to help find who did this. Steve just nodded and let Sam talk to them and say thank you and goodbye. Peggy even came by which did manage to get a reaction from Steve who knew she was still tired and should be resting.

She had smiled sadly and cupped his cheek saying she was sorry, she didn’t specify what for but it was enough for Steve to crumple and cling to her, tears staining her hospital gown as he shuddered with the weight of his grief that he felt guilty for even feeling whilst Bucky was still being operated on. Sam took Peggy back to her room and told Steve he’d be in Peggy’s room if he needed him and Steve actually managed the weakest of smiles for his friend which fell flat but the effort was appreciated and Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder before leaving him alone in the corridor.

It was going on three days and nights without sleep for Steve and he was really feeling it. His eyes stung and he felt himself staring and his eyes drooping constantly. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself awake and gratefully accepted the food and water he was given by worried looking nurses that passed by with no news. Eating anything made him feel sick but he knew it would help him stay awake if he kept his strength up and he needed to be awake, he couldn’t sleep until Bucky was alright.

At 6pm one of the surgeons came out of the operating room, looking as exhausted as Steve felt and she looked shocked at seeing Steve who scrambled to his feet, feeling wobbly.

“He’s stable,” The doctor said, her voice scratchy from using it for so long, no doubt. Steve nodded, frustrated that his eyes were filling with tears. He needed to get more information, was stable okay, or was stable just waiting for another relapse into a machine not beeping when it should be?

“How is he though? Is this normal for people who get stabbed?” Steve asked and he heard how awful his voice sounded.

“His cardiac arrest wasn’t brought on by the stab wound actually,” She sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over her face.

“It was a factor but the stab wound was oddly placed, the serrated blade meant there was a lot of blood but that was mostly superficial as far as flesh wounds go. The blade was thin though and it penetrated through scoring the bone in his shoulder, we were worried it had been damaged irreparably,” She went on and Steve was trying to swallow. Alive was alive; they could deal with anything else as it came, at this moment Bucky just needed to be alive.

“Okay so what about his heart, how is it?” Steve croaked, heavy set frown weighing on his forehead.

“It’s the strangest thing,” She started and Steve’s muscles tensed up, not liking the sound of that.

“Heart attacks are usually caused by blocked arteries and stress on the heart, that’s not what we found with Mr Barnes.” She looked torn between her bedside manner and her medical curiosity and the not knowing was setting Steve’s teeth on edge.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of Broken Heart syndrome?” She looked apologetic like she was being a little ridiculous.

“Broken Heart syndrome? Is that a real thing?” Steve said, cynical of something that sounded like it was out of a kids TV programme.

“It’s the more common name, medically speaking it’s called Takotsubo cardiomyopathy,” She explained and the terminology seemed to cement it a little in Steve’s mind.

“Takotsubo,” Steve repeated and the doctor nodded.

“The body reacts to it in the same way it would a heart attack but the inside of the body looks very different as Takotsubo cardiomyopathy is caused by a surge in adrenaline and other hormones.” She looked very deep in thought, her medical intrigue showing here and Steve was scarcely less eager but more desperate to know what this all meant for Bucky.

“When patients experience an adrenaline rush in the aftermath of a stressful situation, the heart muscle may be overwhelmed and become temporarily weakened. The left ventricle of the heart takes on a cone-like shape that resembles a Japanese pot used to capture an octopus, that’s where it gets its name from, Takotsubo, I believe,” She continued and Steve knew if Bucky were here he’d be laughing at the fact that he’d suffered from a heart condition and not Steve. But he wasn’t, and it all left a very sour taste in his mouth.

“So the stress caused it then?” Steve questioned, not exactly sure how that made it so much different from a normal heart attack, but he was glad to know Bucky didn’t just naturally have a weak heart.

“Its causes are supposedly rooted in emotions. Grief, severe grief, the death of a loved one, is the most common... that's why they started calling it 'broken heart syndrome. Severe anger, fear, or just real extremes of emotion but it’s caused by the sheer depth of _feeling_ from the sufferer. Incredible really.” She concluded and Steve’s heart seemed to be in his throat, he wondered what condition that was.

Bucky had been yelling at Steve, trying to keep him safe like he always was and his heart had literally given out under the pressure of it. Steve almost laughed. If anyone could die from caring too much it would undoubtedly be Bucky.

“What does that mean for Bucky, though?” Steve pushed, fighting his relative tsunami or warring emotions.

“Well stress will be off the table until he’s recovered but it was actually a rather minor heart attack, it was his other injuries which caused issues with us keeping his heart stable, like his stab wound and broken ribs.” Steve was obviously looking at him like this was not of very much comfort because she quickly went on.

“He’s going to be alright, Mr Rogers,” Sam must have told them his name because Steve sure as hell didn’t and hearing his own name seemed to hit it home and he sucked in a stuttered breath nodding wildly, not trusting himself to speak.

“He’ll need a lot of rest and proper time to heal, of course, but he’s strong and healthy so I expect a full recovery with some sessions of physiotherapy to ensure his arm movements are back to normal.” She smiled wearily and Steve smiled, eyes filling up again and would have hugged her but didn’t want to in case she was uncomfortable with it.

“Thank you so much, I can’t tell you how grateful I am, he’s a really good man and you are clearly a fantastic doctor,” Steve’s voice was betraying his emotions but it didn’t matter, the doctor smiled warmly at him.

“It’s okay, he’s a real fighter. I doubt you’ll listen to me, but you should really get some sleep, too, Mr Rogers,” She said, her tone turning a little concerned.

“No, I’d like to see him, please,” Steve asked, near begged and she looked ready to say no.

“I won’t disturb him, I’ll probably be able to sleep a little if I’ve seen him,” Steve pleaded and she still looked unconvinced.

“Wait a while and I’ll tell the nurses to let you in when visiting hours finish, prepare yourself though, it can be overwhelming to see someone after surgery,” She warned and he nodded firmly.

He managed two hours before all but forcing his way into Bucky’s room, the nurses weren’t happy about it but apparently Doctor Temple (that was her name he’d discovered) had pulled a few strings to get him allowed in.

~~~~~

It was all but silent when Steve pushed open the door to Bucky’s room, closing it quietly behind him, making sure the curtain’s were closed and he took a deep breath before raising his eyes to look at his friend.

He winced a little at the sight of Bucky, pale and attached to a couple of machines, catheter hanging out of his mouth, keeping his breathing steady just in case. They’d at least cleaned him up, the wound on his shoulder heavily bandaged and the bite mark on his neck covered in clean white butterfly stitches and covering. His hair was covering his face slightly and Steve noticed it was shorter and jagged at the ends and his stomach lurched when he realised the man who tortured him must have cut Bucky’s hair and it bothered Steve a lot for some reason.

He looked a lot younger with shorter hair though and Steve approached the bed slowly and silently, counting his steps and trying to slow his heart down as he neared the chair next to the bed, but he didn’t sit down just yet.

The regular rise and fall of Bucky’s chest helped calm him but he leaned over Bucky, brushing his raggedy hair from his face and smiling sadly down at his oldest friend. He pressed the most gentle of kissed into his hair and pulled away when his eyes filled up again, the exhaustion swirling into his emotional state and pulling him apart.

Steve slumped into the padded chair beside the bed and took Bucky’s hand, squeezing it gently; scared anything more would somehow break him. That thought actually made him smile. Him breaking Bucky, what an alien thought to have. It had always been Bucky being gentle with him, and now look at him handling Bucky like fine china.

“You did it, Buck.” Steve whispered.

“You scared the hell out of me for a while there,” Steve’s voice cracked and he sucked in a couple of steadying breaths, not wanting to cry again.

“I’m real proud of you, just, get better again now, jerk.” He choked a little on his words and shook his head at himself for being so emotional. He fell asleep watching Bucky’s chest rise and fall, praying it would keep doing just that.

~~~~~

Something woke Steve and he blinked, rubbing crusty sleep from his eyes, his watch read 5pm and he stared in amazement, he’d slept for nearly a full 24 hours.

“Steve?” He jolted and jumped to his feet at seeing Bucky with his eyes open and the smallest smile on his lips. He couldn’t speak yet, just nodding, that’s all he seemed to do recently. Bucky sensed it and winced a little as he reached up and pulled the catheter from his mouth.

“Look,” he said, making a show of his chest moving with the airflow going in and out.

“No hands,” He said and he would’ve laughed if it wouldn’t have hurt so much.

It was typical Bucky, he’d nearly died and his first instincts were crack a joke to make Steve feel better and the smile he was sporting was one Steve had feared he’d lost forever. The relief turned painful and Steve sagged a little, tears there before he’d registered what was happening.

“You’re alive,” He stated and Bucky’s face fell into concern instantly, not having realised what Steve had been through.

“Stevie, I’m alright,” He reassured, frustrated that he couldn’t stand up and take him into his arms. Steve grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut at ‘Stevie’, that stung it was so familiar. He gulped in breaths audibly and Bucky watched him, eyes apologetic and sad.

“I hate you so much,” Steve breathed and Bucky nodded a little, wincing again at the movement.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s voice was worse than Steve’s.

“Don’t.” Steve said, clipped. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or not, he couldn’t figure out what was the primary emotion to run with here.

“You don’t do that again,” Steve ordered and Bucky smile turned sad too.

“You okay?” Bucky managed and Steve walked away from the bed, harshly pushing the chair out of the way, laughing without much humour before taking a few breaths to calm him. It was ridiculous, Bucky had been _stabbed_ and all Steve had to do was watch and wait whilst he was cut open and rummaged around in but no, he wasn’t okay.

“No, I spent the last day and a half thinking you were as good as dead, Jesus, Buck, I watched you get stabbed and I watched when that fucking machine wouldn’t just beep, it just wouldn’t for, for so long, Bucky, I just needed it to fucking beep,” He let out a sob and Bucky’s face was grave.

“Come here,” Was all his friend said, and Steve complied easily, returning to the bed side. The bed was high enough that Steve wasn’t really towering above Bucky.

Bucky took his hand and with care, clearly in pain, lifted it over his chest to rest above his heart where it was thudding reliably, showing no signs anything was ever wrong. Steve was exhausted. Bucky’s heart had always been on his mind but he hadn’t expected the universe to force him to face facts quite so literally. He dipped his head over to rest on Bucky’s chest, fisting his hand in the material of Bucky’s hospital gown, regulating his breaths and listening to Bucky’s heartbeat, holding on to him like a lifeline.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” Bucky’s voice held a hint of teasing but mostly thick emotion, and a little fear, because he was admitting something here, something they had been tip-toeing around forever.

Steve didn’t even hesitate. He raised his head and kissed him, not caring that Bucky’s lips were scabbed and not soft how they should be. His hand shook as he raised it to thread his fingers into Bucky’s soft, short hair and the other man sighed happily, relief sinking through the pair.

Bucky ignored the taste of his own blood and the pain that came as he forced his lips to reciprocate to Steve’s, they didn’t matter right now. What mattered was Steve’s hand was in his hair and his lips being so gentle Bucky could have cried. He was exhausted and in a constant throbbing pain, dulled by the morphine he was on but still present but he didn’t want to sleep.

He didn’t know how much Steve had been through whilst he was out but he’d put his friend through hell and he was still here, hating him and kissing him with the same passion. He was scared, people did rash things when they’d been through trauma, he didn’t want Steve to regret this, that would hurt more than anything physical could. However, he couldn’t bring himself not to moan when Steve added just a tiny bit more delicious pressure.

Steve, taking this as a sign of pain, pulled away, lips beautifully red and his eyes sparkling with remnants of emotion. He smiled, not moving from where he was leaned over Bucky.

“You need to sleep,” He whispered and Bucky panicked, what if he woke up again and that was a dream? Or worse, it wasn’t a dream but Steve wished it wasn’t real.

“Steve,” He started but Steve quieted his worries by kissing him again, gently using his tongue in an obscene way that made Bucky’s mind shock to a standstill, he groaned louder and Steve smiled against his lips and then pulled back much to Bucky’s dismay.

“If you sleep, that’s the first thing you’ll get when you wake up,” Steve offered, a glint in his eye that Bucky _loved_.

“Not just one,” He bargained breathlessly and Steve chuckled affectionately.

“Not just one.” He promised.

“Deal.” Bucky said quick enough to make Steve laugh louder and press another kiss to his lips, too quick to finish but sweet and filled with promise.

Steve sat back in the chair, smiling at his friend who very quickly succumbed to sleep, his lips still tingling from their kiss. Thoughts were racing around his mind, desperate for him to focus on them but he decided to not pay them any mind and to just relax and revel for a while in the moment. Bucky was alive and was going to be alive for the foreseeable future and he’d kissed him back and asked for more. Steve certainly could not ask for more.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where i sweet talk you for comments xx  
> thanks for reading, please let me know what you think, if i mended any broken hearts.  
> updating asap!  
> [source for broken heart syndrome information - http://abcnews.go.com/WN/broken-heart-syndrome-emotional-stress-heart-problem-middle/story?id=9798271]


	14. Warm As Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is sleepy, grumpy & just wants to kiss Steve. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, my name is belle and i am a bad writer. so i had to leave this by the wayside for a while as uni went crazy, for the next 3 weeks i have exams and performances and assessments and coursework and yuck so i'll try and write but please bear with me until then and i can write whenever i want! THIS IS PURE FLUFF - SHORT & SWEET BECAUSE I HURT PEOPLE'S HEARTS AND I'M SORRY. it's a little short because no plot just fluff seriously. i already have another fic lined up for after this, as this only has a few more chapters to go!! please forgive my lack of updates & stick with me, thank you!!! comments fuel my heart & my writing so, just a hint. i love you all, okay, end of rambly note! (when it's longer than the chapter you know you fucked up)

Bucky woke up for the first time in weeks with nothing in his mind. Ordinarily, he’d have likely been dreaming of whatever he was stressing about or would wake up troubled, already worrying before his eyes had even opened. Today, however, his head was clear, destitute even. He was blissfully calm.

He’d been in the hospital for just over three weeks and was bored out of his skull. The lack of stimulus, crappy food, constant and invasive bodily checks and terrible day time TV would be enough to drive him insane over the course of two weeks. However, the hospital also had ridiculous patient visiting times and rules and his restrictions to seeing and touching Steve was possibly enough to push him over the edge. Steve had, had to go back to work after a couple of days and Bucky had no distractions, or nothing that he wanted to think about anyway.

Every time he closed his eyes he seemed to be watching a play-by-play of his torture and after a while it stopped being anything but exhausting. One particularly evil nurse he was sure wanted to kill him – he wasn’t paranoid or anything, something about the guy just wound him up. Steve found it hilarious but what wasn’t hilarious was the outrageous no excessive physical contact rules which ‘yes includes kissing’. Anything more than hand holding and this guy could smell it, Bucky swore, the moment he even thought about pulling Steve in for a kiss the demon nurse would burst through the door to berate him and then _lower_ his morphine level like he wasn’t in extra pain now, the cheek of it.

Steve, traitorous bastard, was totally on board with these rules saying things about whatever was necessary for Bucky to heal and respecting the people who saved his life and other such nonsense that Bucky would resolutely ignore. He woke up irritable and alone with beeping machines and annoying people. The last time he saw Steve was for half an hour the day before until he was kicked out and Bucky had very nearly lost his temper. He wasn’t made to be boxed up and dictated to about who he could speak to, for how long and what about. Natasha on her few visits to ‘make sure he was still alive’ laughed and made it clear she thought Bucky’s only issue was his separation from Steve and he was a lovesick teenager. She may have also used such fun adjectives as ‘pathetic’ and ‘feeble’ and ‘desperate’ – good friend that she was.

Fury had stopped by on his second day on the mend saying Chancellor Devon was thinking of bestowing him a medal of valour or something along those lines. Bucky had little interest in getting a medal as a physical representation of one of the lowest moments in his life and questioned Fury on whether they caught who’d ordered his capture and was orchestrating all the fires and bombs but they’d had no luck.

With Natasha’s help they’d managed to track certain signals from Brick’s equipment to where he’d been receiving instructions from but it was deserted when they’d got there and there was no trace of where they’d moved to. Whoever was in charge was clearly a professional, even Natasha had admitted the whole thing had been executed well in terms of discretion to the big boss, if it hadn’t been for Bucky holding his nerve and Brick losing his, they wouldn’t know nearly as much as they do. Also, anything they did know that was relevant had mostly been deliberately told to them and was cryptic and to mess with them, like using Steve and his knowledge against Bucky.

Early on, when he had been dosed up to the heavens in morphine and other medication, plus the effort his body was putting into healing himself where lifting a finger was exhausting, he’d sworn he’d seen the man he’d bumped into twice outside Steve’s school lingering by his bedside, or maybe outside of his room by the window. It could have easily been a dream or even a hallucination because God knows what all the different drugs were doing to his sleepy brain but something warned him not to dismiss it, dream or not. He didn’t mention it to Steve or anyone else because he didn’t want to sound paranoid or worse, mental and he didn’t want Steve to worry any more than he already had. After putting Steve through hell he wasn’t going to do anything else to stress him out.

Today he was warm, warmer than usual and his chest at last didn’t feel dangerously light and cold, like he was floating away and his body was barely there. There was a pleasant weight keeping his breath steady and he couldn’t feel the scratchy sheets but something smooth and soft. It must be the effects of the drugs he was on but he could swear he could smell the dusty honey scent that was definitively Steve. Regardless, he pretended Steve was there and his calm increased, a tiny smile even crept onto his lips just from the thought.

The lips on his own, however, that was something he surely wasn’t hallucinating, they felt fairly real. He resisted the urge to open his eyes and check because if it was a dream it was pretty great, the best he’d had in a while and why would he chance ruining it and waking up? He kissed back, slow and relaxed like he had all the time in the world and this was how he was going to spend every last second of it. It was sweet and there was no doubt in his mind whose lips his mind was conjuring up. When it stopped he sighed deeply, knowing he’d have to wake up soon and he’d have to face the cold empty room.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice whispered and Bucky smiled with his eyes still closed. Lips gently kissed his cheek then his forehead and then his lips again, chaste and careful.

“You’re a good dream,” Bucky croaked, marvelling at how his throat still felt hoarse in his dream, maybe he was lucid dreaming. He heard the trademark low chuckle and his smile blossomed further.

“Buck, I’m not a dream.” Came the reply in an amused tone, affection rich in his tone. Bucky let out a low happy moan and closed his arms around the small body he was delighted to find his mind had conjured up with the voice.

“Oh yes you are,” He hummed happily and Steve laughed, sounding exasperated but happy.

“You’re a sap, come on, wake up.” Steve pushed and Bucky huffed reluctantly, squeezing Steve in his arms and breathing in his smell one last time before cracking open his eyes hesitantly.

It was still dark, the sky visible out of his window was a splash of watercolours, gentle persimmon and crimson morphed into a haze of gorgeous plum as hints of yellow shards threatened to appear along the edge of the horizon. The sunrise didn’t keep Bucky’s attention however. Prepared to jolt awake to an empty room, painfully devoid of Steve, he was shocked silent to find Steve actually in his arms, messy hair and sleepy eyes accompanying a happy, lazy smile and something about it all made his heart start to beat harder.

Steve nearly started talking but Bucky took his moment and used one hand to caress Steve’s jaw before guiding him into a rough kiss, more urgency than the last now that this was real and time was finite. He kissed Steve like he had a point to get to, a desperate purpose that he could spell out with tricks of his tongue. Steve didn’t object, he was startled at first, still half-asleep but couldn’t help but respond eagerly. Bucky’s hands were present and insistent on Steve’s jaw pulling and stroking until one arm looped down again and yanked Steve, who squawked in surprise, on top of him.

Any other time and Steve might have pulled back and made them stop in case someone came in or he hurt Bucky but it had been three weeks without properly touching, Bucky was healing fast and Steve had already broken a rule by sneaking in to stay overnight in the same bed so what was another rule broken. He grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s hospital gown, his other hand braced on the bed by Bucky’s head, keeping him steady and his heart started thudding in his chest mortifyingly loud. Bucky’s hand slipped from his jaw to his neck, thumb dragging along Steve’s collar bone, other hand putting pressure on his lower back, pulling them closer.

Steve was testing the water each time he moved making sure he wasn’t hurting and Bucky was getting aggravated, sensing it and kissed him fiercely, the action a dare for Steve to retaliate to. Which he did. Simultaneously, Steve dipped his head to suck on Bucky’s neck below his ear and bucked his hips, grazing his teeth along Bucky’s throat whilst he shifted tantalisingly on top of the other man. The reaction was enough to make Steve smile wickedly against Bucky’s neck as he whined with abandon and gripped Steve’s hips, desperate for more friction.

Impatient, Bucky manhandled Steve easily, pulling his whole body higher so their lips could meet again and their hips were more easily met. His hands burned up and down Steve’s sides, no longer careful and gentle but persistent and demanding in a way that made the man moan it was so perfect. Provoked, Steve pushed down and bit gently on the edge of Bucky’s lip earning a loud groan that made Steve stop to laugh and cover his mouth, breathless. They both listened; hoping demon nurse wouldn’t burst in and catch them like this because Steve definitely wouldn’t be allowed to visit. After a few moments they both relaxed, breathing heavy and trying to stifle their laughter. To Bucky, this high was better than the morphine they had weaned him off.

“You thought you were dreaming?” Steve asked, hushed, eyes sparkling with the exertion and cheeks still pink and Bucky celebrated inwardly.

“Are you crazy? ‘Course I did, you’re way too good to be true.” Bucky mumbled, content. Steve shoved his arm playfully.

“Quit it.”

“What’re you doing here, how’d you get in?” Bucky asked and Steve’s smile turned mischievous.

“Well, I’m a highly skilled super soldier so it shouldn’t really be a surprise,” Steve grinned and Bucky laughed, unable to help it.

“Right, right, how could I forget?” Bucky allowed, revelling in the happiness just radiating from Steve. Watching him, Bucky was still in a half-mind to thinking this was a dream it was so surreal, to have Steve in his arms, like he’d always been there and like kissing him was no big deal and they were both old hands at this. It made sense; they knew everything about each other but for the first time they were genuinely on new ground and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little nervous.

“Hey, you alright?” Steve asked, sensing the shift in mood.

“Yeah, uh, yes, this is all just, it’s still weird,” Bucky admitted sheepishly and Steve’s face fell just a little but he nodded, trying to be understanding.

“If you’ve, I mean, I know this has all happened pretty fast –” Steve started a little anxiously but Bucky cut him off with an incredulous laugh.

“Fast? Steve I’ve been dancing around you since, hell, since I was fourteen, maybe even before that, I don’t know.” Bucky scoffed in amusement.

“This,” He punctuated it with a quick kiss.

“This took way too long.” Bucky finished and Steve looked bewildered and overwhelmed.

“But it’s weird?” He pushed and Bucky nodded honestly.

“We can take it slow,” Steve tried and Bucky frowned.

“I don’t want to take it slow.”

“Why not?” Steve looked a little frustrated like he was trying to be reasonable but Bucky was stressing him out with his back and forth.

“Because if we’re busy taking it slow and I nearly die again only minus the nearly, we’ll miss out on all the fun stuff.” Bucky joked, blasé. Steve frowned angrily now, thumping him on the arm stronger now.

“What?” Bucky objected.

“Don’t say shit like that to me, Bucky.” He snapped and it suddenly became apparent that maybe it was too soon to be making those kind of jokes.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean for you to take it like that, I just –”

“How am I supposed to take it? You say you’ve wanted me for ages but it’s weird like this and you don’t want to go slowly though we should because you might die? Am I supposed to appreciate the humour in that? Making you uncomfortable by going too quick and you kick the bucket before it goes too far, or what?” Steve rambled angrily and Bucky winced at his words. He was right, Bucky was being a bit selfish here but he’d also had his words misinterpreted.

“Okay, first – I’m not dying, okay. That was just me being an idiot, I’m not going anywhere, I promised and I meant it, alright?” Bucky said seriously and Steve released a slow breath before nodding and waiting for him to go on.

“Second – I’m sorry, I worded it all wrong and freaked you out for no reason.”

“You don’t need to pretend to –” Steve started to dismiss but Bucky stopped him.

“No, Steve, I’m not pretending anything, I was pretending when we were just friends and I had to try to convince everybody that I didn’t want you like that, that was the pretending bullshit and I hated it, it was awful. This isn’t that.” He reassured and Steve kept quiet, eyes wide, both men feeling this was going to be big and important.

“It’s weird because I convinced myself that I would never have this,” He gestured to the two of them entwined on the bed.

“I forced myself to accept that this would never happen and I had to just be a friend to you and now I’m scared that I’m deluding myself and somehow this isn’t what I think it is. Somehow I’ve twisted this to fit what I’ve wanted for so long and I’m just, just second-guessing myself because I have never thought I deserved you.” Steve didn’t say anything but huffed angrily and Bucky smiled weakly, nodding.

“I know, I know that now, but it’s true. And I don’t want to go slow because I waited so long and this is, it just feels amazing and amazing things, with me, they just don’t last. And in my head I think I just want to experience everything with you before it’s gone, okay?” Bucky concluded haphazardly and wanted to look away but couldn’t bring himself to avert his eyes in case Steve confirmed any of his worries or tried to lie to make him feel better.

“Okay, resisting the urge to kiss you, you moron,” Steve laughed a little and his face was flushed differently now.

“No, no, go for it,” Bucky leaned it with a smile and Steve batted him away with a peal of laughter.

“Hey, focus!”

“Ugh, fine.”

“I understand, okay. I really get it but I’m not willing to give you up sooner or later, it’s not happening, Buck. You’re insane, okay, you jump into fires and get fucking kidnapped but I want you just as you are.”

“And...” He looked nervous but resolute about something and Bucky squeezed his hand gently.

“We last. It’s always been us two, we’re both still here and I don’t think that’s going to change.” Steve really sounded final, this was the only outcome he found acceptable and Bucky’s throat felt tight and it hurt to swallow for some reason.

“Yeah,” He was all choked up.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

He wanted to say more, something specific that would cement everything he felt in something tangible that he’d wanted to say for years but it was too raw. They were both exposed and it could skyrocket or plummet and this perfect moment was enough. Right here, fading bruises and mending bones on an uncomfortable hospital bed spilling their fears and feelings at sunrise in whispers just for each other. That was so enough for Bucky. And Steve looked like he was feeling the same thing. And for a while they just smiled at each other, which dissolved into a few kisses that said what they couldn’t right now. And then just holding onto each other and dipping in and out of sleep. Enjoying this now before Steve would have to go.

Bucky could have laughed just as a way to release the building happiness trapped in his chest. How remarkable you could feel so full and overwhelmingly happy just in someone’s presence. This was more than enough for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SICKENING FLUFF & FEELINGS FOR U DEARS X  
> (just a little update to get back in the game - pls comment & let me know what you think, i don't often do just fluff chapters but i love writing these two all in love.)  
> ((also any questions or suggestions for next fics would be wonderful - this one still has a way to go but i'm a planner, despite my disorganisation))  
> (((i have already started another au & it's cute af)))


	15. Red Is a Ruin Next To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some poisonous secrets come between Bucky & Steve. Important decisions and undeniable danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive. Moving back home for summer from uni next wednesday. Have missed writing so much but all my assignments and performances are done now /crowd cheers/ -- also love how people beg me for fluff then as soon as they get it want more angst. This is a build up chapter but it's all kind of prepping to go down. Please let me know what you think it helps enormously!! love you all, enjoy!

When Bucky had finally been deemed as fit enough to leave the hospital, Steve, to his dismay, barely got to see him. As he’d already been questioned about everything at least ten times whilst Bucky had been recovering, it was now Bucky’s turn to answer the questions, and they had far more to ask him than they had for Steve.

What’s more, both of them had to get rid of their phones and laptops and have all of their emails and social media purged – for their own safety naturally, but it made communication that bit more difficult. Not to mention, just daily life was that bit more complicated, especially trying to explain it to people who didn’t know the truth. That was another catch; no one was allowed to talk about the kidnapping whatsoever to ‘uninvolved parties’.

Perhaps the strangest part for Steve was going back to work. To the best of his knowledge, Bucky was getting carted between the station and interrogation rooms constantly, not even Natasha had seen him for a full week after he was discharged from the hospital and Steve was started to get restless. His brain liked to torment him with the idea that it wasn’t the police who had a hold of Bucky but the same psychopaths behind the abduction.

He flinched every time a light suddenly came on, his mind conjuring up images of Bucky, tortured and dying projected onto a brick wall, painfully unreachable. Little things would make him anxious, a phone being left to ring, a pencil being dropped, the scrape of a chair on the ground. He’d never felt so jumpy and Sam and Peggy were increasingly worried about him.

Since Peggy was discharged from the hospital, a week before Bucky, she’d thrown herself back into her work, saying she wouldn’t let the lowlifes who put her in hospital keep her there. Steve had always loved that about Peggy. She was fearless. She could get hospitalised a thousand times and each time she’d pick herself up, dust herself off and carry on. He failed to see the irony of this thought.

Sam was essentially an angel in disguise as a sarcastic school therapist. He made sure there was always enough food in the apartment, Peggy never had to walk home alone, Steve’s boxes of books to mark would always appear in the apartment of their own accord and would be returned to school in a similarly mysterious fashion so Steve didn’t have to lug them about. He did all this and kept up a serene, calming aura, putting no pressure on Peggy to face what had happened to her until she was ready, and no pressure on Steve to face the frightening situation he was in until he could handle it.

By the week and a half mark of no Bucky, Steve was starting to lose his nerve. He’d been round to Bucky’s apartment three times, the last time, Natasha told him as soon as Bucky was back, she’d let him know. He’d thanked her but in reality he was disappointed he didn’t have an excuse to go round and if anything, just catch a glimpse of Bucky’s world so he didn’t feel like he’d imagined the whole thing between them. He couldn’t sleep in his room for fear of it being bugged despite the policeman assuring him it was perfectly safe. He tried to sketch but when he realised who the smile or eyes or hands belonged to the pencil turned to concrete in his hand, somehow unusable. So instead, he marked books all night, or tried to force interest in crappy midnight television, he even once tried to make Sam’s famous anger eggs but he was too distracted and had nearly set the kitchen alight.

The thought of fire didn’t help either. Steve couldn’t help but marvel over the fact that even if everything somehow magically went back to normal, he’d still be risking losing Bucky everyday simply down to his day job. Bucky had always brushed it off as unimportant and worrying being a natural but irrelevant by-product of his chosen career but were it the other way around and Steve could die every day (not that educating teenagers was the safest line of work), Bucky would probably attempt to stop him from ever stepping foot in the school again.

His students were remarkably astute, a few even going as far as to wait after class and ask if he was alright. People who said teenagers were oblivious were out of the loop, they are extremely sensitive, particularly to people they care about or respect. His every class seemed to be watching him keenly, waiting to see if they needed to catch him if he fell over, or go and get help if he started crying, or maybe spontaneously combusting. Who knew what they thought was going on with him? He didn’t even know so the stares didn’t bother him so much as they made him nervous.

Ironically, his distraction had helped his workload, lack of sleep meant more hours to work and he had been helping other teachers with marking or research. The Head had even pulled him in to congratulate him on how he’d returned to work and hit the ground running. Steve was relieved that the Head was more concerned about a teacher’s numbers than anything else. The classroom, the playground, even the Head’s office he could handle, the staffroom however, now there was frightening.

“So when are you and Charming McFireman going to tie the knot?” Tony’s voice cut through Steve’s dazed reverie and his pen stopped mid circle where he was marking his advanced class’ books. The four of them were gathered around their usual table in the centre of the staffroom, eating or marking, respectively. Bruce snorted and saved him from replying immediately.

“Tony they’ve only been dating a few months,” Bruce chuckled around a mouthful of salad as Steve’s head snapped up in response to the word ‘dating’. He seemed to realise his mistake quickly enough as his face flushed and he swallowed brutally before babbling a little more. Sam was suspiciously still and quiet.

“Not that you guys are dating, just spending time together outside of work, doesn’t have to be dating that’s just gossip, you know, office chatter it doesn’t really... It was Sam. Sam told us everything. And Tony used maybe illegal sources to look into his background.” Bruce snapped under the weight of Steve’s iron gaze and Sam and Tony both squawked in outrage.

“Hey, I barely said a thing!” Sam sounded embarrassed and appropriately guilty.

“You traitor!” Tony gasped accusingly at Bruce, who raised his hands in surrender.

“Tony was the one who took things too far,” Sam continued, quickly pushing more blame onto Tony who was spluttering comically.

“Mutiny! You guys are selling me out!” He snapped incredulously.

“Tony,” Steve finally spoke and Tony suddenly had the sense to at least look a little remorseful.

“All I was doing was checking for anything major, like if he’d killed anybody, or grown up as a Soviet spy!” He exclaimed and Steve narrowed his eyes further.

“We grew up together and he’s never killed anyone.” Steve all but growled.

“And now we know that for sure!” Tony finished, attempting a jovial tone which was quashed slightly by Steve’s downright scorching glare.

“We were just trying to be good friends,” Tony tried again and Bruce and Sam looked irritated at being included in this invasive posse Tony had pulled together.

“Friend do not try and dig up skeletons about their friend’s boyfriend.” Steve snapped and the word was out before he could stop it, louder than he would have liked also as half of the staffroom looked over at his little announcement.

“I knew it!” Tony said, triumphant and Steve scowled, gathering up his books, flustered. Sam smacked Tony’s arm and Bruce may or may not have kicked him sharply under the table, something caused Tony to wince and double over a little.

“What? I knew it.” Tony muttered but Steve still caught it.

Half-way from the table Steve sighed and slammed his books back down briefly. He caught Sam and Bruce’s apologetic glances and Tony’s excited gleam in his eyes and he knew it wasn’t their fault he was so on edge.

“It... It’s complicated,” He rolled his eyes but it was enough to get a smile from them all and they erupted in conversation, Sam boasting as he knew the most about them and Tony and Bruce demanding more information. Steve couldn’t help a little laugh that escaped as he grabbed his books, made some small excuse of having no more classes for the day and made his escape to his thankfully deserted classroom to recover from his overbearing but ultimately lovely friends.

Sitting at his desk, staring at the empty desks and chairs, he let his head fall into his hands, his stuttering breath, for the first time, actually quite comforting. It was the old familiar, something to break up his routine, he was forced to come back to himself when his breath wasn’t completely with him and it would shake him out of whatever daze he was in. Concentrating on counting in between each inhale and exhale, he allowed distant memories of Bucky flit in and out of the forefront of his thoughts. Rather than worrying and beginning to panic, he let his anxiety seep out of him and pictured it being gulped up by the wooden desk. It was some calming technique Sam had taught him when he’d first began his training, to visualise your stress or fear and imagine it physically leaving your body, it worked weirdly well.

That was until, three sharp raps startled Steve to attention. In one juddered movement he half stood and caught himself on the desk, almost feeling his anxiousness return to his body from the wood his palms pressed against as he saw who stood in the doorway.

Alexander Pierce was stood in the entry to his classroom, looking at him curiously, the gaze was blunt, unkind somehow.

“Mr Rogers, welcome back.” Pierce said, a warm smile not reaching his eyes and Steve returned a similar gesture. Something was off and Bucky had always told him to trust his instincts. He’d gotten a weird vibe from this guy the other time they’d spoke but now he seemed to be a more permanent fixture he should keep an eye on.

“Thank you, Mr Pierce, wasn’t it?”

“Well remembered. Yes, I’ve taken the post for Vice Principal. I would have come to see you sooner but I’ve been a little preoccupied.” Another smile accompanied this, a secretive smirk, like this was a private joke at Steve’s expense and he bristled internally.

“It’s not a problem. I’m glad everything is all sorted now.” Steve kept it short. He got the impression Pierce wasn’t someone he should be giving any extra information to. Pierce just nodded and neither spoke again for some time, Steve decided he’d stand his ground, staring the other man down, refusing to buckle and make some excuse to flee from his own classroom.

“You’re not sleeping.” It wasn’t a question, it was just a statement of fact but there was some harsh teasing lilt to it, as if it were comical and obvious. Steve was caught off guard. What angle was this guy playing with a comment like that? Maybe it was obvious. What was obvious was that this man intended to toy with Steve and he was struggling not to grind his teeth.

“I’m sleeping fine.” He was pleased with how level he managed to keep his tone and hoped his expression was mirroring this faux-calm.

“Big Brother begs to differ.” Pierce said cryptically and Steve’s insides froze. Big Brother – was he referring to cameras in Steve’s apartment? How the hell did he know about Steve’s paranoia? Did he really know something about this? Or had he made some off the cuff remark that had just happened to hit too close to home? He had to keep his cool, suddenly aware that maybe he couldn’t trust everyone he came across anymore. Whatever this man knew, Steve wasn’t going to confirm anything, he wasn’t playing along.

“I’m really sorry I was actually just leaving.” Steve spoke carefully, not too quickly, sounding sure of himself in a way that made his feet feel more certain and strong where they were planted on the floor. Pierce’s tight smile was less amused now and more disappointed, like he’d hoped Steve would rise to his taunt. A swell of satisfaction rose through Steve at the sight of it.

“Of course, I won’t take up any more of your time.” And with that he turned and sauntered away, not sparing a glance behind him.

He gathered his things without really seeing them, just moving like clockwork, his bag, his notes, some books to be marked, his sketchpad and his jacket and he made himself leave the building slowly as he normally would. Something about their little exchange made a cold sliver of fear creep up into Steve’s throat. Surely Pierce wasn’t involved and he was just being paranoid, but he couldn’t ignore something that scared him this much surely. The most frustrating thing was it was clear who he needed to talk to about this.

He was passing the reception office as he realised he didn’t want to go back to the apartment which would be empty and maybe full of cameras the police had somehow missed in their thorough sweep. He stopped a little and then registered his own name being called by the man who worked behind the desk at reception.

“Sorry, Steve, I’m glad I caught you before you left, I have a message from you from a,” He glanced down to check what he’d written and Steve held his breath praying for one name.

“Yes, a Natasha Romanov?” Steve let out the breath, not what he’d been hoping for but the next best thing if she’d contacted him for the reason he was hoping. He nodded in encouragement, not fully trusting his voice.

“Ah, yes she said to let you know your package has arrived and you should collect it but to be careful as some of the goods are fragile.” The man recited it from where he’d scribbled it down and Steve smiled a little at Natasha’s phrasing but then frowned, not liking Bucky and fragile being put into the same description. It was all too close to damaged or broken which Bucky all too often had tried to convince himself that’s what he was.

“Alright, thank you.” He gave the man a cursory smile, before quickening his step, turning the wrong way for his apartment, heading to Bucky’s, excitement electric in his step.

He flagged down a cab, grateful beyond words that he only had a half day of classes today. The ride there took entirely too long for Steve’s liking and his foot bounced in his impatience as he tapped the door handle in a chaotic rhythm the whole ride. The money was in the cabbie’s hand before he’d even stopped the car and Steve dived out, dashing up the few flights of stairs to Bucky’s apartment.

He took a brief second and a half to catch his breath before knocking rapidly on the door. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for the door to open. In his eagerness he didn’t even worry about what he looked like. When the door opened to reveal Bucky looking tired and distracted but overall okay, Steve couldn’t help but smile in relief.

“Steve, I need to–” Bucky started but Steve was kissing him before he could even begin to say whatever he’d been meaning to.

For a moment Bucky half pulled away but Steve made a small noise of protest and he wavered, hovering in indecision for a moment before apparently giving in and collecting Steve in his arms and kissing him back with enough vigour to made Steve a little dizzy. He half registered Bucky kicking the door shut behind them but was more focused on being pressed against the wall urgently and kissed more urgently still. Apparently distance made this all the more intoxicating, though Steve’s pretty sure he’s nearly fainted every time Bucky’s kissed him, embarrassingly enough, he can’t imagine not feeling that same feeling. He can’t imagine getting used to this.

He could barely remember to breathe because it didn’t feel important and it felt as if kissing Bucky were breathing and he was air because wouldn’t that be remarkably simple and delicious? He could feel Bucky’s hesitance, something was eating away at him but for once, Steve just wanted them not to think over analyse like he always did. He just wanted to lose himself in this physical bliss. The tables had turned quite jarringly.

Bucky’s hands burned up and down Steve’s sides and back and hips and shoulders. Though Steve wished he could do the same, his hands, as usual, were irresistibly drawn to raking through Bucky’s hair, drawing out gorgeous moans that made it impossible to move them elsewhere. Again Bucky drew back against his will, clearly fighting with himself and Steve was stubborn, growling as he surged up against Bucky, not accepting anything less. Bucky made a sound of pure agony as he gave in again, kissing Steve with such feeling he felt drunk.

Impatient, Steve tugged on his shirt and pulled him back into Bucky’s bedroom, letting Bucky push him against the door again, happily letting it shut behind them. He could feel Bucky warring with himself but selfishly wanted to tempt Bucky to just give in, let himself feel good for the sake of feeling good. He let himself deliberately drag out an indulgent sigh and enjoyed the way it drove Bucky wild. His blood was racing, their breath mixing hot and heavy as they groped and pushed and pulled, working each other up into a frenzy.

It was only when Steve’s hands slid to Bucky’s belt that he ripped himself away and stilled Steve’s hands in his. His pupils were dilated to the extreme and his breath was laboured.

“Shit, Steve, wait, wait, wait!” He gasped, but even as he said this his forehead was resting against Steve’s and he allowed Steve to inch closer, ghosting his lips over Bucky’s tantalisingly.

“Buck,” He groaned and he heard the gulp.

“I have to, there’s a lot we need to, to talk about,” His voice was faraway and his eyes didn’t leave Steve’s lips. Steve took advantage of his distraction, trailing his fingers up Bucky’s arms and shoulders and then his neck before tangling them in his short choppy hair. Steve shivered in pleasure at his loud gasp when he pulled Bucky’s hair, tugging his head back, exposing his neck to assault with kisses and licks and bites.

He was really playing dirty but he was sick and tired of them both denying each other this when it was so obvious now what they both wanted. They’d wasted enough time. Pulling Bucky back into another filthy kiss he smirked against the other man’s lips when he cursed, breathless. He went back to work, shoving Bucky back in the direction of the bed, not letting up for a moment. He didn’t even try and resist this time, letting himself be thrown around was apparently really working for him and Steve noted that for later.

He roughly pushed him down onto the mattress, climbing over him and pressing his thumbs into Bucky’s hips, hard enough to leave a mark, kissing and sucking down his neck, giving his collarbone special attention and enjoying the extreme reaction when he sucked just below Bucky’s ear.

“Fuck, Steve, what are you doing to me,” Bucky stuttered a little, his eyes shut in pleasure as he gripped onto Steve’s sides.

Steve tried to yank Bucky’s shirt up and over his head but it seemed to jolt Bucky back to reality as he scrambled to push the two of them up. Much stronger than Steve, he managed it easily enough but his hands were shaky on Steve’s wrists and from where they were now sat opposite each other, too close, his eyes were endlessly flickering down to Steve’s  swollen lips, unknowingly biting his own.

“We can’t,” He all but whispered and Steve frowned, agitated.

“Yes, we can.” He said forcefully, pushing forwards to try again but Bucky was expecting it and held him in place firmly, reluctantly.

“Stevie, please, we need to talk about all this shit, we need to really think about this.” Bucky’s eyes were pleading but it was unclear what he was pleading for at this point and Steve was beyond frustrated. He changed tactics. He flopped down onto the bed and surprised Bucky by pulling him on top of him and held on tight.

“I don’t want to talk,” He gave a slow, rough kiss.

“I don’t want to think,” Another kiss, Bucky wasn’t giving back like he was before but he wasn’t pulling away either.

“I want to do this,” Another, taking his time, making it paced and strong just in the way he knew now sent Bucky over the edge.

“For hours.” Maybe somewhere in his mind he recognised this wasn’t fair. Bucky was really trying, it wasn’t like this was easy for him and he was resisting as best he could, but in all honesty, his attempts were fairly poor in response to Steve’s method of distraction.

At last, Bucky, finally and admirably, tore himself away again with a world-weary huff, wondering why he was the one that had to exert self-control in such tempting situations.

“I know, so do I, believe me, fuck, so do I.” His face and breath backed up his statement.

“But I can’t get carried away and regret this later, Steve, not with you.” His face was set, determined and Steve couldn’t figure out what exactly he meant by that.

“Carried away?” Was all he could muster and he slid out and away from underneath Bucky, sitting on the other side of the bed, watching him carefully.

“Yeah, this is getting carried away, Steve.” Bucky continued, like his words weren’t curdling Steve’s stomach dangerously.

“How? How is this getting carried away?” Steve said sharply, eyes stinging irritatingly but he refused to blink, to look away. Bucky frowned like he was being difficult.

“How is this _not_ getting carried away, Steve? We have no idea where any of this is going!”

“I thought we were clear about where this was going. I told you how I felt about you, about us–”

“That’s not what I’m getting at, it isn’t that simple, Steve!” Bucky sounded frustrated now, like Steve was deliberately misunderstanding him but all Steve could hear in his words was that Bucky didn’t want this.

“It is simple!” He was yelling now, and standing. He wasn’t sure when that happened.

“It couldn’t be more simple, why are you trying to make things more complicated?”

“I’m not! I’m trying to be practical!” Bucky was yelling too and going to stand and how they’d got here Steve didn’t know but he could feel Bucky trying to shut himself away again and they’d come too far for that.

“Why?” Steve shouted, voice breaking, eyes begging Bucky to stop this.

“This isn’t practical, it never has been, we knew that!”

“Did we?” Bucky yelled back and Steve backed away a little, sensing that he’d missed something.

“So what you really mean is, _I’ve_ got carried away, _I’m_ taking it too far?”

“No, that’s not what I meant–”

“Then what did you mean, because I would never regret this!” He gestured between the two of them and something in Bucky’s expression softened.

“I know that,” His voice was soft and sad and Steve was panicking. What had changed between the last time they spoke and now?

“But you would?” He’d meant it to sound angry and defiant but it sounded small and scared and he couldn’t take it back because it was exactly how he felt.

“No, not you, never you!” Steve nearly choked on his relief when the fight returned to Bucky’s eyes and he sounded angry at even the prospect.

“Then what? You’re not making any sense, why can’t this happen?”

“Everyone I’ve spoken to, everyone who questioned me, they’re all telling me who to trust and who to keep away from and it’s pretty clear that I’m not safe right now. And I won’t be for a while.” His tone was strong but there was a tiny hint of an apology that made Steve’s heart flip angrily.

“Don’t fucking start this again, Buck,” He snarled, terrified and he closed the distance between them, his hands fisting his shirt material and keeping him close. Bucky let him but didn’t move, which scared Steve even more.

“They’re making... plans, ways to fix this, to finish it but, I just, you, you can’t be anywhere near me, Stevie,” He whispered and Steve’s hands began to shake.

“You tried this already, remember?” Steve tried to speak normally but his teeth were clenched and it was almost painful to speak.

“You tried and it didn’t work, it just made things worse. Can’t you see that every time you put space between us it doesn’t _fix_ anything, it just makes things worse?” He spat furiously, desperately and Bucky’s eyes were flitting madly about the room, mirroring his internal struggle.

“This is different,” It sounded weak even to Bucky’s ears.

“Stop it. Stop doing this, stop trying to back out,”

“I’m not! I don’t want this, Steve, but this is bigger than what I fucking want, people are getting hurt, I can’t, I really can’t see that happen to you. I’m keeping you out of it.” He sounded so final.

“I’m already in this! They already know about me, this won’t change anything!”

“This is for your own good, for your protection.” Bucky sounded physically pained now but the words were practiced, like they weren’t his own.

“Who’s making you do this?” Steve asked, dangerously quiet now and Bucky sighed, letting his head rest against Steve’s again.

“It really doesn’t matter. I have to choose.” His voice shook and so did Steve’s small frame.

“Choose? Between what?”

“Between what’s selfish and what’s going to keep you safe!” Bucky reasoned but his eyes were wild as he tried to back off. Steve held on tight to his shirt.

“No, you’re choosing between having me or not.”

“No, that’s not it. You know that’s not even a choice for me, that’s, that’s not even an option, please, don’t make this worse, Steve.”

“What do you want from me, Buck. I’m always going to fight for you, you know that. But you’re not fighting for me?” He sounded heartbroken to his own ears.

“Don’t ever say that, fuck, please, I need to do the right thing here, and all I can think about is how sick I felt when I thought they had you and when that psychopath talked about you.” His voice was rough and Steve was helpless, his anger was dissipating just looking at how Bucky’s face contorted at the memory. The fact that he was haunted by fear of them getting a hold of Steve and not his actual torture said enough, even if Bucky couldn’t say it himself.

He sighed deeply and released Bucky’s now crumpled shirt from his iron grip, taking a steady, measured step back.

“Alright,” He mumbled, wiping a hand across his face.

“Alright?” Bucky replied, looking like he wanted to pull Steve back in but his hands were wringing themselves together.

“Do whatever it is you’re going to do. But whatever is happening, there’s always going to be a risk here, it’s never going to be a sure thing unless we take some kind of leap of faith.” Steve said wearily, gazing at the man he was undoubtedly and incurably in love with.

“I’m throwing myself out here for you, okay?” Steve laughed humourlessly.

“If you don’t want me,”

“Steve–” Bucky sounded furious but Steve didn’t let him interrupt.

“If you don’t want me,” Steve ignored him, pushing on with grit teeth.

“Then make that decision.” He eyed Bucky warily, scared he was going to speak up now and confirm his fear.

“But, if you do. Want me, that is. You gotta’ choose me, Buck. Even if it’s fucking scary, okay? That’s how this works.” Steve was finding it difficult to talk as his throat seemed to be closing up with the swell of emotion he was struggling to keep down.

“I know. And I am, I do, I will always choose you but, please, I just need a little time. Please, Stevie.” The air was heavy and it was hard to force it in an out of his lungs but Steve was trying. He nodded infinitesimally and slowly walked over to Bucky, burying his face in his chest and clinging to him for a minute, allowing himself that luxury before pulling back. Clearing his throat, he straightened up and walked away, leaving Bucky stood uselessly in his room.

He knew what this was. What it meant. Steve wanted him, danger and fear and baggage and all and it was Bucky that was holding back, as always. He was the scared one. But he had every right to be scared. He’d been told very clearly that should he continue to spend his time around Steve, he would die. As a certainty. They took their practice shot with the kidnapping and the broadcast but they obviously liked using people close to them, against them. If he could distance himself, he might be able to keep Steve alive and minimalise his heartache if this went south.

There was so much he wasn’t allowed to tell Steve. The countdown. The Stately Ball. The demands. He wondered how he got so lucky and unlucky at the same time. Here was Steve Rogers, asking him to share his life and here he was, unable to say yes. How fucking unfair. How devastatingly unfair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing these two arguing, it flows so naturally and they're so passionate. I hope you guys like reading it, I know it's angsty but it's important they have these conversations! endless love as a bribe to get you to comment, i know it's a pain but it helps me more than i can say! new chapter out as soon as i can & i'm working on my next thing as well now (can't help myself) alright, enough rambling, thanks for reading! xxx


	16. Meeting Without Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky needs to be at the gallery but preparations for the ball make things difficult. And more than just what he'll wear. Steve is a little preoccupied too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT PLOT PLOT. I will fight anyone who says Steve isn't smart or an amazing teacher - I literally created a course that I want to take just because of how he describes it. Last couple of chapters now - please let me know what you think!! Also writing my next work which will hopefully be one long chapter (super long you know me) of a stevebucky au - a surprise i bet no one will guess. Anyway, chapters coming soon - enjoy.

Steve and Bucky kept their distance.

After everything that had happened it felt absurd to wish for a chat over coffee but Steve couldn’t help it. Maybe that’s exactly what could fix all of this. Just a chat. Not even a date, just a chat. The other times Steve had tried to stay away from Bucky he’d failed miserably but this was different. He needed to prove he could live without Bucky, he was self-sufficient, not some desperate cling-on that had no life. He had a life, there was a time before Bucky, kind of, and there could be a time after.

Steve had friends, a career, passions, interests and most importantly, a sense of self. He knew who he was and what he wanted. A complicated love life, ironically, was apparently amazing artistically. He’d sketched more in the weeks since Bucky essentially broke up with him, (not that they’d been dating, or whatever) than he’d sketched in years. It was a distraction technique, whenever he wanted to talk to or see Bucky he’d pick up his sketchpad. And since that proved to be all the time, the pages flew, detailed images in shades of grey and black stacked up, seemingly in endless supply.

Since they’d spoken there had been no fires from their friendly neighbourhood serial arsonists-turned-kidnappers but that didn’t especially put Steve at ease. He was constantly alert for the phone call to tell him some fire had gotten out of hand. Did it make him a bad person that he feared hearing Bucky had landed himself in hospital but also kind of wished for it just as an excuse to go and see him?

Steve was determined to prove not just to Bucky or anyone else, but himself that he could always rely on himself. He’d always thought it was dangerous when people were too co-dependent, he and Bucky were no exception. It threw a spanner into the works that Bucky wasn’t just someone he had feelings for, as if that weren’t enough. He was a best friend, he was family, hearing his voice was like coming home and in a way it was. This detachment was a test of will and Steve would not back down. Even if it meant facing the future on his own. Realistically, he knew he was being dramatic, Peggy and Sam as always were on his side and he could count on them. But it was difficult.

Later on in the evening was Steve’s art exhibition. After countless setbacks and the date being pushed and pushed, it was finally happening. Thinking back to his original excitement for his New Year Exhibit felt as if it were years ago. It was April 1st. Peggy had asked him whether he thought Bucky would come but he just clammed up, mumbling excuses about schedules and complications and Peggy was smart enough to understand and sweet enough to drop it. And Steve knew he wasn’t the only one having a hard time, Howard hadn’t spoken to Peggy since she went to hospital after the attack.

Both Steve and Sam had offered to go and ask what the hell his problem was but naturally Peggy didn’t need or want anyone to fight her battles for her. And Steve was determined to follow her lead. Questions about Bucky went unanswered, he couldn’t bring himself to lie so he just avoided the subject. His exhibit was a handy distraction and he invited everyone. Sam helped, hyping it up as this exquisite social event which though it made Steve laugh, he couldn’t accurately deny seeing as Peggy was hosting it and anything was exquisite with Peggy involved.

He couldn’t honestly say he wasn’t hoping, painfully hoping, that Bucky would make an appearance. Even if he couldn’t stay, or talk, just to see him. Show him the art that he’d so majorly inspired. Besides, it was a little embarrassing that the person who the exhibit was dedicated to might not care enough to show up. Maybe that wasn’t fair. After all, it was obvious more was going on but as far as Steve could see, this was Bucky backing out. Sure the fires and the entire sorry situation was as good an excuse as any but for once Steve thought he would be worth the risk Bucky refused to take.

There would always be an excuse why being together would be too scary, too dangerous, too inconvenient but weren’t relationships all about sacrifice and putting in the work. Steve had been prepared to do that but if Bucky wouldn’t meet him half way he had to take the hints where they came. He wasn’t an idiot and he had enough faith buried in him to believe if it was meant to happen, something would change.

Luckily, Steve found distraction in his work. Once a year, entering the last semesters, he taught his favourite module. Though he specialised in Renaissance Art and it had been the major reason he was hired, he couldn’t teach his favourite aspects all year round, he had to branch out into other areas of Art History the course demanded.

However, his advanced class had a ‘Renaissance Revised’ Module that Steve practically wrote the scheme of work for. It was essentially an entire module where he got to talk and talk about what he loved exclusively and he got paid for it. Definitely the highlight. Today was his first class of the module with his advanced group and he refused to ruin it with his chaotic personal life. It was easier to push his messy thoughts to the back of his mind at work because prioritising his students was incredibly important to him.

As they filed into the class, Steve tried to stop fidgeting and turned to write ‘Renaissance Revised’ on the chalk board (yes, chalk board, he was old school) behind him – dusting the remains onto his trousers as he faced his eager class. He glanced down at his notes as they got settled, the bell hadn’t rang yet and a few stragglers had yet to rush in and take their seats. The low hum of chatter, chairs scraping, laughter and equipment being sorted was soothing and Steve found he could collect his thoughts, smirking at the brevity of his notes, knowing he didn’t need prompts at all in this class.

Finally, when it appeared everyone had taken their seats and signed in, he cleared his throat, signalling he was ready to begin the class. These were good students, adept, diligent, and talented. It was always interesting working with such sharp students, they knew if you were faking it or if you really knew your stuff and many were outspoken enough to call you out on it. Other teachers sometimes complained about them and Steve found himself growing defensive, protective of his students, refusing to make them apologise for their intelligence.

He picked up a pencil, playing with it delicately as he always did when he was about to address his class for a long time, it helped to have something to do with his hands.

“Right – who’s ready for some intense note-taking?” Steve opened with a wide smile at the harmony of groans from his class, sullenly mourning the loss of their practical class.

“I know, this is a written module, but trust me, if you’re here to really learn about the Renaissance era in some artistic depth, you’re going to love it.” He began, enjoying himself a little because this was the good bit. They didn’t know what this was about yet and he knew them well enough to know they’d enjoy it. Even about the dull things they asked for extra resources and quotes and his opinion so this should be a welcome change from that.

“This is my favourite module to teach, to study, all of it I love, okay. And I want your input and opinions, this is a two way thing, I encourage discussions and debates as long as it’s kept appropriate and civil,” He laughed at the memory of some particularly aggressive arguments on the political statements of street art and two of his students turned bashful.

“Revised Renaissance, what do we think of that?” Steve asked, starting vague, wanting to ease them in, they had enough time to do this properly, he’d made sure. He waved away some hands in the air, signalling they could call out.

“Is it looking at the art people have made to copy the renaissance in contemporary times?” A blonde boy named Albert questioned, doubt seeping into his voice as if he was ready to be shot down.

“Interesting, it’s not but that’s an interesting idea,” The class chuckled and Albert smiled, embarrassed

“No really, that would be a Renaissance of the Renaissance, and if you think about it, people mimic the old masters and classics all the time, are people in a couple of centuries going to call this the second Renaissance? It’s entirely possible.” Steve nodded, impressed and Albert sat up a little straighter, satisfied that he’d gotten such a response.

“Was there an anti-Renaissance, people trying to predict what art might be in centuries to come?” Harriet, the tall, ginger haired girl at the front piped up, eyes sparkling amongst her freckled face. Steve contemplated this with a wry smile.

“That’s a cool concept, some underground movement, probably as self-righteous as the Existentialists were in France later in the 19th and 20th century but maybe a little less depressing,” He speculated, drawing some more laughter from his students, some were even taking notes which made Steve want to roll his eyes as they documented his somewhat ridiculous hypothesis.

“All trying to guess how we’d paint in the future, just imagine. It’d probably be extremely controversial, realist works questioning authoritarian rules and predicting anarchic society – maybe it’s yet to happen. As far as we know though, after the Renaissance, at least in Europe, came the Romanticist movement, which was lovely, I will fight scholars in the street who condemn it, it was lovely.” He said in mock-seriousness and all eyes were on him, several students grinning, others had their hands hovering over their notepads, others doodling without really looking at the page.

“Anyway, we’ve strayed thanks to Harriet, you have a knack for making me go on a tangent.” Steve smiled as she looked incredibly pleased with herself.

“This module,” Steve emphasised, bringing the focus back.

“Renaissance Revised is more simple overall than you’d think, it’s just us looking at the Renaissance, but really delving into it and picking it apart, not just why it was important but who made the art we study, who commissioned it, how it adapted to fit the cultural changes of the time and so on.” Steve explained, seeing the pens flying across the page now as they hear the key words that they know to note down.

“It’s a gorgeous thing to study in itself, people discovering not only a natural treasuring of antiquity but attempting to recreate this classical style – that’s fairly daring and ballsy. And yes, this happened mostly in Italy, direct imitation of work, we still admire the 15th century Italian masters to this day, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo–”

“And Donatello, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!” Parker chirped at the back, already laughing at his own joke.

“Precisely, thank you, Parker – these Italian artists have clearly stayed with us for the right reasons.” Steve remarked absently, snorts of amusement scattered around the room as Parker shuffled a little in his seat, finding the situation half funny, half embarrassing.

“As much as Italy is a big focus, undoubtedly, when you talk about the Renaissance, it was a European movement and phenomenon.” Steve was barely having to think as he spoke, this was his element and his students were practically leaning over their desks in interest.

“And if you’re still not sold on the module, don’t worry, we look at tonnes of art, arguably some of the best in the world. And different forms!” Steve exclaimed, huffing in delight to the amusement of his students.

“So not just paintings?” Myra sounded hopeful and Steve knew she preferred alternate art forms and got a little pained when he got lost in brush stroke analysis so he smiled, nodding happily.

“Absolutely! Sculptures, tapestries, manuscripts, all sorts and what’s more this is an individual marked module – you learn about it all, pick what you love, and write your own thesis on it more or less.” The class burst into conversation at this, he could hear people declaring and staking claim on certain topics and lines of argument and he laughed at their enthusiasm, tangible in the room.

“I know you all have ideas about what you’re going to write on and I’m sure they’re brilliant, make sure to write them down. I would ask that you keep an open mind just in case you hear something that takes your interest and just let yourself pursue that, challenge yourself, explore topics you’ve never read up on before, it’ll make the whole thing more fulfilling.” Steve added carefully.

Steve continued explaining the module in more depth – what they’d be learning in each class, what to focus on, what they’d be marked and examined on. This class was only to outline the module but it still sped by as he got carried away on little narratives into answering questions about pieces of art or stories behind them. He had to admit, he was showing off a little but it wouldn’t hurt to flaunt his knowledge here of all places, were his students could soak it up like the sponges they were. He was an educator – that was his stellar excuse for showing off.

The bell rang just as Steve had finished explaining the assessment process and he dismissed his class, all of which seemed to be buzzing at the prospect of such a compelling module. He sat at his desk, organising his notes, smiling at students who thanked him on their way out.

“Sir?” He looked up to see India rocking back on forth of her feet awkwardly in front of his desk.

“What do you need, India?” Steve asked with a friendly smile, trying not to be intimidating even though the thought made him want to laugh.

“I was just wondering, well my Dad works at the County Hall and he was telling me there’s loads of Renaissance pieces being shown for the Stately Ball they’re holding soon and I was wondering if you were going and could you take some pictures up close maybe?” She sounded like she was attempting to be nonchalant but this was maybe something she shouldn’t be asking.

“Did your Dad say you couldn’t go and take pictures up close?” Steve queried, effectively side-stepping her other question and she quickly began to turn scarlet.

“Well, he kind of said something about some regulations for staff and visitors, but I figure, if you’re a _guest_ maybe the rules are a bit different?” She smiled cheekily and Steve couldn’t help but return it, shaking his head.

“Sorry, India, rules are rules, besides it’s far better to see work like that up close. Put it on your bucket list to see them in person.” He advised and she smiled, clearly a little disappointed but unsurprised.

“Okay, thanks, Sir.” He nodded and she made her way out.

The Stately Ball. Flashes of dancing with Bucky in his little living room danced behind his eyes and Steve squeezed them shut tightly, he’d been doing so well not thinking about Bucky, getting lost in his teaching, but of course, he had to touch down back to reality at some point. The memory was a lovely one, which in and of itself made it bittersweet to remember. Clumsy feet, Bucky’s deep frown of concentration and his nervous hands, then of course, Steve bumping his head in Bucky’s inexperience.

Stop it, Steve thought to himself, this was only going to make things harder. His fingers itched to sketch but he had to get going. He needed to get ready for the exhibit.

Getting ready turned out to be fun. Peggy was beyond excited, running around yelling about how he was going to blow everyone away. Sam was fussing over his outfit, he’d changed three times already, nervous to be seeing Sharon again at such a formal event. Steve found it was fun just to let himself be in the moment, the spark of excitement bubbling away in his stomach was refreshing.

Peggy was, unsurprisingly, a complete darling in her announcement speech, far too generous in describing Steve’s skill and far too detailed in her faith in his talent. He was unashamedly teary-eyed by the end of it, buried in hugs from Sam and Sharon and other friends and supporters and it was so, so nearly perfect. The exhibit was put together delicately, the minimalist style complimenting Steve’s poignant pieces, bold and unapologetic in the canvas of the building.

He spent most of the night trying to tear his eyes away from the door and graciously accepting gushing praise of his work which felt alien to his ears after how long it had been hidden away. His paintings were pored over by critics and buyers alike, all wanting context and background and suddenly people were in his face asking about his romantic history and childhood and Steve could have choked laughing in his delirium as he skirted around the invasive questions. Peggy was a one-woman wonder, diverting attention, politely steering people away when Steve needed a break, talking up his art and down his conversational prowess in a way that somehow made him sound enigmatic and not dangerously awkward as was the reality.

He tried to slip back into the Steve from earlier in the day in his advanced class, like he was in his element, which really he couldn’t be more in if he tried. But something about his footsteps echoing rather than the padding of bare feet, the low hum of aristocratic chatter rather than some delicate alternative playlist, the dimmed artificial glow rather than the sting of a cheap lamp or the swelling morning rays – it all felt disconnected. He allowed himself to drift upstairs to the more discreet back section, a corner dedicated entirely to his sketches, his real pride.

He really tried not to eavesdrop on people’s conversations but he was desperate for honest feedback and like any artist, had some shy part of him that was a clawing seeker of recognition. He slipped easily in and out of the small collected groups and tried to play it cool with every new comment on the beauty of his line work, his shading, how he’d captured his subject. He felt fit to burst. Explosive even as he ran out onto the balcony and out of sight to indulge in a small, violent dance of triumph before collecting himself and calmly sauntering back in.

His sketches were the only pieces of his work that he sometimes got lost looking at – it didn’t often happen with his own creations. Usually, he was so exhausted and artistically spent after a piece, he put it away for a long while, sick of looking at it after so long. His sketches though, they were snapshots, still life candids, stolen tokens that he would never give back. The crinkle at the edge of Bucky’s eye as he laughed, untempered. The delicious, organic curve of his lips when he was thinking about something. The delicate underside of his milky wrist, bent in occupation. The dip of his spine visible from under a loose t-shirt as he reached for something the sketch didn’t show. The cross of his legs as he snoozed, one slipping further on the silky wooden floor, socked feet at disarray with each other, flopping to either side comically in a way that was horribly, wonderfully Bucky.

In that moment, lost in nothing more than the product of his hand, a pencil and some paper, Bucky was everywhere. He was here in the very walls, people seeing what Steve saw everyday, the beauty in Bucky’s everyday. He was here. But no, no he wasn’t. He was everywhere – but he wasn’t here.

Steve stepped away from his sketches, forlorn. People were leaving in clusters now it was growing later, the exhibition had only been for an hour and a half for its opening night. Still, Steve felt that distinct sinking feeling that accompanies something momentous, something you’ve worked for and strived to for so long, coming and going, ending. He was happy and he was heartbroken. But that was okay.

He left with Sam and Peggy after she locked up and his chest was tight and his throat constricted as he walked away at the end of the night that was perfect except for the fact that it wasn’t. But that was okay. He didn’t come. But that was okay.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

“Boss, you okay?” Dum Dum shoots him a worried glance as he mutters under his breath. Bucky consciously stops bouncing his leg and biting down on his lip, just nodding once seriously.

They were in a large, crowded meeting room. Bucky didn’t know everyone but the faces he recognised were Dum Dum, Howard, Fury, Foggy and Chancellor Devon’s Security Chief. The rest of the room held a mixture of a few high-ranking police officers, several FBI agents, and two tech-savvy Brits who looked nervous and ill-placed as they worked on the various tablets and laptops spread across the huge oval wooden table they were all sat around.

They’d already been sat here for over an hour for what had been described as a ‘quick briefing’ in the memo he’d found stuck on his desk which had been followed by Howard saying apparently they would find out what all the cryptic stuff really meant, why they had to stay away from everyone. Steve’s exhibition started in forty-five minutes and Bucky had zero intention of missing it. This was his chance to just see Steve for at least a few minutes in a completely non-assuming, formal capacity that no one could draw conclusions from. It was a perfect opportunity and he wasn’t going to waste it by talking conspiracy theories with America’s most wanted and most needed. That was when Chancellor Devon’s Security Chief chose to pipe up.

“Alright, so now you all know protocol for our highest level issued outcry, we can get down to business.” He said seriously, all too slowly for Bucky whose impatience was growing and he bit down a snide remark, not wanting to slow this guy down any further. How the hell he was a security detail when it took three days for the guy to yawn was beyond Bucky.

“Everyone in this room, and only the people in this room, is included and crucial to the execution of Operation Illustrate. The information you are all privy to is completely classified and puts you all at extreme risk but you’re all well enough accustomed to that it shouldn’t be a problem.” He continued and the firefighters sat up a little straighter, as did the police officers, unused to this kind of address. Bucky dropped his attitude at this point, sensing this was genuinely important.

“This meeting is to explain in finer detail our strategy to finishing the little death threat bomb, fire saga we’ve all been enjoying to varying levels of exposure,” Fury explained, sparing a glance for the firefighters in particular and Bucky’s chin rose just a fraction.

“Operation Illustrate is a tactical team response we’re planning to execute at the Stately Ball in two weeks, April 15th. Every potential target will be in that Hall, they’ll be expecting us to be off guard after so long with no attack, unarmed, and that’s how we’ll catch them.” Fury went on solemnly.

“How exactly are we going to do that?” A police officer asked and Bucky couldn’t help but mirror his sentiments. In theory, great idea, in practice, how were they just going to catch this obviously elite, well-organised dangerous criminal network?

“With bait.” One of the Brits cut in unexpectedly, a young woman.

“Excuse me?” Dum Dum sounded agitated and Bucky agrees with him too, what was this? Some Scooby-doo plot and they’d unmask the criminal it would turn out to be the Shopkeeper after all because he didn’t get invited to the ball. Before he could begin a rant of any kind, the two techies began stretching blueprints and coding sheets over the desk for people to see and Bucky looked them over in detail as they spoke.

“We create a situation which would play perfectly into their history for dramatics. We put a firefighter in the perfect line of fire to take out when receiving a medal of honour and give the convenient impression we’ve turned a blind eye to our lack of security. So many guests working as our security it’ll be child’s play to find out where they plan to strike from and intercept them before they take a shot at anyone.” The male Brit explained carefully and Howard and Dum Dum glanced over, uneasy. Bucky shot them a look that clearly said to hear them out.

“These blueprints show the structural integrity of the building, a bomb here would be moronic as the density of the rock could easily absorb the explosives they’ve been using and it’s unlikely they’d try for a larger bomb as they prefer picking clear targets. A sniper is far more likely – clean and precise.” The woman went on easily, painfully clinical and Bucky fought the gulp that threatened to follow his imagination conjuring an image of his face through the lens of a sniper.

“So you want me to stand there and look pretty and hope that you find the maniac with the rifle before he does a number on me in front of the crowd?” Bucky said slowly.

“Who says it’d be you?” Howard countered and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, he’s right, boss, one of us would be better.” Dum Dum joined the dumb ideas committee apparently.

“Shut it, both of you.” He growled and Howard flapped his arms in well-versed exasperation and Dum Dum shook his head, frustrated.

“It’s not foolproof, Barnes, and you can say no, but we both know that’s unlikely so let’s get past the part where you pretend you won’t do it and talk about how we’re pulling this off,” Fury jumped in, eyeing him down.

“How you hope to pull this off, Jesus...” Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes, feeling a migraine coming already.

“Precisely,” The young woman at the front added helpfully, oddly chirpy. Bucky frowned at her and she blushed, shuffling papers and pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Alright – how’s this going down?” Bucky relented at last. This would be a long night.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

“You know,” Peggy started from the other end of the sofa she was sharing with Steve, both of them tucked under a duvet, Sam at their feet, his duvet drowning him as they all enjoyed a movie night.

“The Stately Ball is in two weeks, Steve,” She said thoughtfully and Steve screwed up his face as Sam paused Julie Andrews being wonderful in The Princess Diaries.

“Yeah, so what?” He said, snacking on some skittles he had in his lap, not many left from the pack he started at the beginning of the film.

“What made you suddenly bring that up, Pegs?” Sam laughed, confused and Peggy nudged him playfully with her foot.

“The film, dummy. Observant bunch, you two. She’s got her ball, made me remember ours.” She nudged Steve with her other foot and he wiggled, trying to squirm out of its reach.

“Not our ball, at least definitely not mine.” He sounded bitter to his own ears and he couldn’t force down the swell of resentment in his throat.

“It’s our ball to attend.” Peggy argued, determination colouring her would-be-conversational tone and Steve could have groaned, wanting more than anything to avoid this topic.

“Your invitation was from a man you no longer speak to and I was never even invited from the man I no longer speak to, we don’t count and you don’t gatecrash that kind of party.” Steve hit out a little there and he wasn’t proud of it but this whole situation was ridiculous enough without trying to draw parallels from the Princess Diaries about a ball. Definitely unhealthy romcom dreams Steve had long since left behind.. more or less. Peggy didn’t rise to his provocation, however.

“I kept my invitation and it says I can bring someone because I was going to take Howard rather than be the plus one arm candy – so now I can bring you!” She sounded delighted with her plan,

“So I can be your plus one arm candy – don’t think I’m the best candidate, Pegs.” Steve commented dryly.

“Of course you are!” She shot back, sounding scandalised.

“Actually Steve’s right.” Sam cut in and both looked down to him in bewilderment.

“I am?”

“Of course. The best candidate is literally at your feet, can’t believe you’d overlook me like that, Peggy!” Sam whined and this time she kicked him for real.

“We’re invited and we’re going.” Peggy said, turning back to Steve.

“Besides, as art aficionados we have as good a reason to go as anyone!” She reasoned and Steve snorted.

“Art aficionados?” Steve said sceptically. Peggy and Sam both raised an eyebrow at him and he re-evaluated his words.

“Steven, I run an art gallery and you literally had your first exhibition earlier this evening.” Peggy returned coolly.

“You fair enough but that doesn’t qualify me for anything!” Steve argued pointlessly and Sam laughed obnoxiously.

“Actually, that’s exactly what it does,” He snarked and Steve batted him over the head with a cushion as he snatched up a handful of skittles from Steve’s lap.

“Steve, you wouldn’t make me go alone would you?” Peggy said in mock-hurt but even so Steve floundered and then sighed, admitting defeat.

“Fine, I’ll go to the stupid ball!” Steve huffed and the other two cheered.

“He’ll go to the ball!” Peggy rejoiced.

“He’ll go to the ball, will young Steven!” Sam took the piss happily and played the film again. Steve couldn’t help but laugh a little. Maybe the ball wouldn’t be so bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I know it's a bit slow when they don't meet in a chapter but it's necessary and the plot had to evolve here. Not long to go folks! Please let me know what you think of this and thank you to everyone who comments and everything else, it helps so much! Thanks - Belle.


	17. Sending Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is going to the ball and he needs to get a suit. Cue blow out in tailors with Howard and Bucky finds out some unsavoury things Steve has said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright - this is the penultimate chapter. The next chapter is the big finale which was actually the first thing I planned before even their meeting ages ago when i was first planning this! I might do a epilogue as well.  
> This has been a wild ride and I have learnt a lot. As soon as I have finished this fic, I'm having a week break I think and then the first chapter of my new fic is going up! That'll be revealed in end notes.  
> I've learnt my lesson and have already written 10k, this is going to have chapters written in advance to keep you from waiting!  
> Sorry about angst but also not bc let's be real you all love it so.  
> Sorry super long note - please enjoy!

_“Not after last time, no way,” Bucky huffs, not meeting Steve’s eye._

_“C’mon, it’s always bad the first time!” Steve teases and Bucky is fighting a smirk, it’s obvious. He masks it with a heavy eye roll. Steve is stood in the middle of his apartment waiting for Bucky to get off of the sofa._

_“Whatever, I’m done with the public humiliation after I assaulted you last time.” He mutters, still looking away, gaze glued to the window despite it being too dark out to see anything other than the bleak streetlight clouded in smog._

_“We’re not **in** public, Buck, besides, you gotta’ dance at a ball.” Steve reasons, hands on his hips, silently triumphant when Bucky sighs in defeat._

_“You better keep a gold hold on me then,” Bucky smiles up at him and Steve’s stomach flips._

Wait, that’s not how it happened.

_“You better help me,” Bucky grumbles as he gets to his feet, a light blush staining his cheeks. The corner of his mouth is downturned as he stomps up to Steve but then hesitates until Steve laughs and takes his hands carefully._

_Bucky takes a step closer and Steve hears his breath catching in his throat. Then, without warning he tangles his fingers with Steve’s, close enough that they can’t see each other’s faces. Steve’s heart is in his throat as he leans painfully slowly and rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder, he can hear his heartbeat and something in him warms._

That’s not how it went. Christ.

_Bucky tangles his fingers with Steve’s._

_“That’s not right, is it?” Bucky looks worried and is glancing around the room like he’d rather be anywhere else in this moment. Steve huffs a nervous laugh._

_“What makes you think that?”_

_“Your shitty pokerface, Stevie, I don’t think I can do this.” Bucky whines and goes to move away but Steve pulls him with a little force and rights their hands._

_“Quit being a baby, Buck,” He laughs into Bucky’s shoulder and he can hear the loud heartbeat now. Bucky yanks at Steve’s waist and he whimpers a little as Bucky’s warm breath of laughter quells against his neck._

_“You’re in charge, Rogers.” He practically purrs and Steve’s knees want to give out._

Fuck, what’s wrong with him? Bucky absolutely did not say that. He said ‘don’t boss me around, Rogers’ and then started telling dumb jokes. Steve squeezes his eyes shut tight, trying to both lose and keep the dream going. But that’s the problem – it’s not a dream, that’s a memory and Steve, masochist that he is, is embellishing it. He can’t think about Bucky for too long before his mind starts twisting it and he has to open his eyes now because Bucky’s started kissing his neck and that’s _really_ not what happened.

He has memories of them kissing and touching, but they somehow all feel bitter now, almost ruined so if he doesn’t think about them now at least they can remain his and a little unspoiled.

He rolls over in bed and sees it’s past noon. Sighing heavily, he sits up, taking in the room though he knows what a state it’s in. There’s pencils and screwed up remnants of half-rushed sketches everywhere among the clothes and books and Steve sort of feels like he’s drowning. But this is how it is – how he is. And he grabs the sketchbook off of the side and only has to dig around under his covers for a second or two before he finds a pencil.

He’s sketching the outline to the both of them in his living room, laughing and crowding each other. Without meaning to on the side of the page he dusts out a light sketch of Bucky’s features contorted into his big grin, the special one but he gets caught up in it, he spends too long on the lips and feels like he’s screwed them up. He tries to correct them but as soon as it has to be changed it’s ruined, sketches of Bucky smiling are as fleeting as the real thing and once they’re gone, they’re gone.

The moment passes and Steve feels the sting behind his eyes, he screws up the page and then throws it and the pencil across the room. Staring at the blank page with the old sketch lingering behind his eyelids he chucks it, and right as he does so the door opens and Peggy artfully dodges the attack. She reacts with nothing more than an eyebrow but it’s enough for Steve to hang his head shamefully.

“Sorry,” He mumbles and he hears her sigh. It sounds as if she’s about to lecture him about his self-torture habits which inevitably will morph into him lashing out but then she doesn’t.

“It’s alright. I should’ve knocked.” She sounds sad and, oh. She’s worried. Now he feels ten times worse.

“Dare I ask what the sketchbook’s crime was to receive such punishment, or is it too unspeakable?” She asks playfully but there’s real concern in her tone. Steve lifts his head with a weak attempt at a smile and nods.

“Pretty sure it’s out to get me.” He grumbles and Peggy groans lightly.

“Rogers, I love you, but you better cut the dramatics before we leave.” She says sternly and Steve eyes her warily, sinking down into the bed a little more.

“Leave?” He grimaces and she laughs.

“Yes, leave, outside, I know it’s usually just for grown ups but I thought we’d try it out.” She smirks and he scowls at her but it holds no heat. He knows he’s wallowing now, it’s been a week. Still, it’s the weekend and he’d been a good adult and gone to work all week, what more does she want?

“Where?” He says simply, knowing when he’s beat. She smiles smugly.

“We’re going to get you a suit.”

“A suit.” Steve replies slowly, taking a minute to process what she’s talking about. Then he remembers the stupid Stately Ball in a week. Which he said he’d go to. Great.

“Is a suit really necessary?” He whines pointlessly.

“Steven Rogers,” Peggy says sharply and he winces.

“I know, I know, sorry.”

“I am your fairy Godmother whether you like it or not – now get dressed.” She walks over and kisses him lightly on the head but her features scrunch up in distaste.

“Have a shower first, you stink.”

“Alright, alright, Pegs, go on,” He waves her out and she laughs but obliges, closing the door behind her but not before pointedly dropping the sketchbook back in his room.

He showers and briefly tidies so his room isn’t quite the biohazard it was before. After he’s dressed and is towel drying his hair he opens up his laptop, closing any open tabs especially emails. To cheer himself up he decides to research the different art that will be on display at the Stately Ball.

It actually does succeed in that attempt, he feels the bubbles of excitement rise in him at the beautiful pieces and famous replicas that he’s going to see. He starts looking into their backgrounds and gets drawn into wiki articles and published professor’s thesis’ about some of their origins and hidden meanings. The amusing thing was that nothing he was reading struck him as new information, had he really reached that level of art nerd? Maybe he should ask for a raise soon.

“Steve, how long are you going to make me wait!” Peggy yells from the hallway and Steve jolts back to himself. He cringes a little at the 23 tabs he’s been browsing absently for, yikes, half an hour.

“Sorry, coming!” He yells and rushes to pull on his shoes.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

The suit shop was a little intimidating. It was obvious when he walked in that Steve was out of place. In his tatty roll up trousers, scuff shoes and paint stained shirt. One of the men at reception gave him a look that said ‘yes, indeed, you are a human disaster, congratulations, now begone!’

Peggy (perfectly at ease, of course) could tell what he was thinking and linked her arm through his, maybe for moral support, maybe to stop him from bolting. It was a nice enough gesture that he couldn’t question it. Damn it, Carter, you’re good. They let the snooty reception man know they have an appointment (thank you very much) and he quickly changes his tune when being addressed by Peggy’s very Peggy-ness.  

They’re directed to the back to browse and the reception man is now painfully over attentive and after the fourth time in two minutes he comes to ‘check’ on them, a tailor drags him away with an apology.

“Right – start looking,” Peggy instructs, already rifling through the racks of posh suits.

“Is this one of those times you actually want my input or where I should nod and smile while you make the decision?” Steve side-eyes her with a smile and sees her mouth twitch upwards.

“Not just a pretty face, are you, Rogers?” She snickers and he sighs.

“No, you can actually be trusted when it comes to clothes,” She adds and Steve coughs a laugh, trying not to draw too much attention to them should reception man take it as an opening to rush back over.

There are other patrons milling about, many scary looking business men with P.A’s trailing behind them, tapping frantically away on devices and pointing out the most expensive options to their employers. Steve did end up watching a man and woman pick out a tux as she gushed about their wedding and something about it made Steve feel happy and melancholy all at once. Eventually, Peggy elbowed him out of it and he began actually looking through the suits, might as well pick one and get this over with.

Some weren’t that bad, simple, classy, but others were angry and pinstriped, or odd colours that made Steve cringe. One suit in particular looked nice, a deep plumy grey and he liked the minimal waistcoat and tie. Casually plucking out the price tag his poor overworked heart nearly jumped ship. He froze and let the tag slip from his fingers.

“Sorry,” He whispered to the suit, afraid he may have left some fingerprints on it, or just the air he’d had in his lungs, he wasn’t rich enough to breathe on suits like that. Peggy caught it and snorted at him.

“We’re splitting the price.” She said and he turned on her sharply. She’d obviously waited to tell him this until they were in the shop so he couldn’t dig his heels in and refuse to go.

“Margaret.” Steve ground out and she scowled at him.

“Steven.”

“It’s a thank you for coming with me and this way my arm candy will be up to scratch,” She winked at him and he groaned in defeat. Why did that always happen with her?

“You are a criminal mastermind, Carter.” He muttered loud enough so he knew she’d catch it. She let out a hearty laugh and he grinned. However, when he turned he came face to face with Howard Stark who looked like he’d seen a ghost.

Steve cleared his throat and when Peggy turned Howard shook himself a little bit, closing his mouth and rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes flicked back and forth from Peggy to Steve to the floor to the ceiling and Steve did feel for the guy but he was also kind of furious at him for getting Peggy hurt and then leaving her in hospital and not talking to her since.

Peggy was tough but Steve knew her better than most people and he knew she was still hurting. He still didn’t say anything and Peggy turned on her heel stomping to the stairs and going up to the second floor where no doubt more extortionately expensive suits were being held. The silence after her exit was louder than before. Steve cleared his throat again, glaring a little but hey, he was allowed to be a little protective.

“Uh, hey Steve,” Howard said apologetically.

“Howard.” Steve replied stoically.

“I know you’re mad,”

“You’re damn right.” Steve finished for him, squaring his jaw.

“And she probably hates me right now,” Howard breathed, eyes on the floor. Steve wanted to yell but something about the way he said that made him hesitate, he sounded so torn up which didn’t really make sense considering he was the one who cut all contact.

“Would you blame her?” Steve counters, being careful not to answer questions on Peggy’s behalf, she deserved better than that.

“No! That’s just it, I’d be worried if she didn’t.”

There was a long pause after that and Steve regarded Howard thoughtfully.

“Then what the hell are you playing at, Stark?” He snapped and Howard winced a little.

“If you’re so cut up about it, talk to her. She’s right upstairs.” Steve near enough snarled that and okay, maybe he’s venting some of his own frustrations here but it’s all just fuel on the fire at this point.

“I can’t do that –”

“Bullshit.” Steve cut in simply. Howard rubbed his eyes and yeah, he looked pretty wrecked actually. Thoughts about shifts and security risks flashed in Steve’s head, making his stomach dropped but he steeled himself. They don’t get excused from this shit.

“Protecting her is... this... It’s –”

“If you say complicated, I’ll throw a punch right here in this shop.” Steve says levelly. Howard looks at him sceptically but wisely doesn’t comment just nodding. From his reputation as a smart mouth he seemed fairly low key today.

“I know, you guys have intense shit going on. But that doesn’t mean it only affects you and you don’t get to fucking opt out of relationships because it’s easier for you that way. I know – we’re in danger, last I checked so were you, and I don’t see us severing all contact and using people and picking them up and dropping them whenever it suits.” Steve was trying extremely hard not to raise his voice.

“It doesn’t matter what your reasoning is, you hurt her and you haven’t made it right, so she’s still hurt. Protecting people is about mutual trust and fucking opening up and letting people in and fucking communicating not shutting them out, that’s how you lose people.” Steve finishes, a little breathless and realises he’s stepped forwards a bit and Howard has stepped back a bit. Huh.

A small part of him acknowledges that yes, this is what he wants to say, to scream, at Bucky. But he’s too proud, Bucky shut him out so he’s not going to go and beg and plead to be in his life anymore if that isn’t what he wants. You don’t protect people like this, all that’s happening is people are getting hurt and confused. If he wanted Steve in his life, surely he would fight for it. He didn’t have a problem juggling his work and having Steve around when they were just friends. It was only when things got more complicated (ugh) that he started trying to push Steve away so he’s kind of sick of being fed the protecting line now.

“You’re right.” Howard says and Steve goes to snap back when he realises what he said. He stops and then nods awkwardly.

“I’m going to make it up to her and please, please believe me when I say I never wanted to hurt her, honestly.” He pleads and Steve believes him but he doesn’t need to ease Stark’s conscience, he probably couldn’t anyway.

“It’s not me you need to convince and Howard, it doesn’t matter what you _meant_ to happen. This is a mess and we’ve consistently got caught up in it and got hurt.” He doesn’t realise his mistake until Howard’s eyes soften and more guilt slips into them.

“Listen, about Bucky –”

“No, don’t, please just leave it, you don’t need to worry about that.” Steve mumbles, desperately not wanting to be _that_ guy talking to his ex’s friends about him. His heart drops to the floor, almost clanking like a deadweight due to the word Ex. Fuck. That’s where they were, if he was honest with himself. They were never official in the first place. Looking back, he has no concrete evidence that Bucky wanted to be a couple and any he had was quickly turning into his mind tricking him. He didn’t know what had really happened and what he was reading too much into and hoping for.

“He’s a real mess.” Howard said sadly and Steve’s heart perked up off of the floor a little in pained curiosity at this information. He didn’t want to ask, he really wished it didn’t matter to him. Things would be so much easier if Steve just didn’t _care_ so goddamn much.

“Is he okay?” He said it quickly so it would sting less.

“He’s managing but...” His face said all Steve needed to know. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat so he can speak without sounding choked up. No need to act pathetic in front of Howard too.

“Well, he’s better off, I guess. He clearly prefers things without me, so,” Steve trails off, hearing his voice swelling with emotion and despising his lack of control.

“No, Steve, that’s not it, he’s just –”

“Howard!” Steve cries out a bit desperately.

“Please, just, I don’t want to...” Howard nods apologetically.

“Besides, I think you have enough to be dealing with.” Steve says, keeping his voice low and quiet so he can calm down. More than anything, he just wants to leave.

“Right... Sorry again, Steve.” Howard offers and he really does look sincere. Steve shakes his head with a smile, signalling that they are okay really, he just can’t talk about all of this anymore. Howard nods understandingly and against his will Steve finds he likes him a little better, even if he’s given no good excuse. Then again, if he’d given a bunch of excuses Steve would have probably yelled at him for coming out with a load of crap. Howard shuffles away and as if on cue Peggy marches up, suit in a bag under her arm and loops the other in Steve’s and drags him from the shop.

Howard’s words stick in his head though and Peggy doesn’t ask so they’re with him alone, bouncing in his head and taunting him.

_‘He’s a real mess.’_

Christ, Buck, why do I still gotta’ worry about you? Why can’t he just take care of himself, Steve thinks bitterly to himself as his hands wring with his worrying.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Bucky has tested and been fitted for every type of body armour on the continent. They’re trying to find suitable protection that will go unseen under his suit. The weapons they’ve tested the armour with aren’t making him feel any better either. The testing climaxing with a fucking rocket launcher which, call him old-fashioned, Bucky doesn’t think he can realistically block, no matter how expensive the fibreglass chest shield.

Not just that, he’s being prepped for worst case scenarios constantly. How to bind a bullet wound, how to stop haemorrhaging, how to co-ordinate in tear gas, even common cures and ways to stay alive should he be poisoned. At this point he’s either expecting the bastards to insert tiny angry soldier robots into his brain to take control of him or for a guy with a rusty fork to shank him, the irony might just make bleeding out worth it.

The very real possibility that he could be killed at this ball is starting to set in. He knew there was a reason he didn’t want to go. It wasn’t the dancing. Definitely not that. Not that he hated getting lessons from Steve. Shut up, brain. We aren’t thinking about him.

After a particularly horrible demonstration of the effects a certain modified taser could inflict, Bucky feels a little sick watching the dummy writhe around, imagining it as him turning out to be all too easy. He leaves the building to get some air and bumps into Howard which is quite a relief, seeing a friendly face.

“Hey, Boss,” He says, sitting down next to Bucky, sounding as beaten as Bucky feels.

“They giving you a breather?”

“From watching all variations of my own death, yeah, tore myself away for a minute,” Bucky snarks but the truth off the statement rings in the air and sits in it stagnantly. Both men feel the weight of the situation hanging onto them.

“I saw Peggy today,” Howard says, uncharacteristically quietly and Bucky glances over at him, gauging his expression. Nothing unexpected, he does look a little shaken up though.

“How’d it go?” Bucky asks, cutting to the chase. Howard sighs and drops his head down between his shoulders in resignation.

“Didn’t say a word, just walked away.”

“Shit, sorry, man, that’s rough.” Bucky consoles because yeah, that is rough. And he’s all too aware that he and Howard are in the same boat with no oars. Another silence stretches between them in the dark night air. The cold breeze a welcome relief for Bucky as he watches the last hint of light disappear behind the horizon beyond the parking lot.

“Saw Steve too.” And that makes Bucky’s teeth clench and his shoulders lock into place. It takes him a minute to get himself in order and he appreciates that Howard says nothing.

“He okay?” Bucky asks simply and Howard snorts with weak humour and Bucky gets it.

“He’s pissed.”

“Yeah, that... that doesn’t fucking surprise me.” He heaves a deep sigh.

“He tore me a new one, actually.” Howard continues and Bucky frowns at him.

“What?”

“Asked me just what in the hell I was doing, told me I was talking bullshit, called me out on my crap, and I suspect yours too,” Howard explained, sounding a little traumatised and Bucky smirked.

“Yeah, that’s Steve.” The blossom of affection was warm but unwelcome, it couldn’t happen. He’d fucked up too far now. Anything more would be false hope and would only make this more painful. The look in Steve’s eyes when he’d pushed him away replayed over and over again and he knew he’d screwed up too far this time. He didn’t deserve Steve anymore anyway.

“He’s scary when he’s angry.” Howard adds and that draws a weary laugh from Bucky and he hums in agreement.

“He said that you...” Howard didn’t finish and Bucky couldn’t help but look up at him, expectant.

“That I what?” Bucky prompted.

“I don’t know if I’m overstepping here...”

“Spit it out, Stark.”

“Alright, just, he said you were better off, that you prefer things, without him around I mean,” Howard said uncomfortably and Bucky bristled.

“He fucking what?” He growls, suddenly furious and there’s too many reasons why and it’s not just at Steve. In fact, it’s largely not at Steve.

“I don’t know, that’s just what he said.” Howard backs off, clearly not wanting to play the middle man anymore but Bucky is too angry to play it cool now.

“Why the hell is he thinking that? Doesn’t he fucking know me at all?” Bucky snaps.

“Call him – ask.”

“Oh and you’re all chatty with Peggy are you?” Bucky lashes out and he see Howard’s expression darken. He huffs and stands up, stopping for a second.

“Sorry.” He mumbles and Howard nods before Bucky walks off around the large building to get some space. He wants to call, so badly. He’s kicking stones into the empty spaces and he’s only getting more angry.

 _Prefers_ thing without him? _Better off_? What a sick joke. And then he can’t not anymore. He rips he phone from his pocket and angrily slaps in the call. Even the prolonged ringing is pissing him off. Finally, it’s picked up.

“What?” Steve sounds angry and thank God because Bucky needs to bounce off this. He’s had no sleep, he’s been told seven ways he could be killed in the last hour and the guy who he cares about more than anything in the fucking world goes and tells his friend that he must prefer living without him, like this all hasn’t been completely awful for Bucky.

“Howard told me.” Bucky fumes.

“Told you what?” Steve snaps back and Bucky growls again at Steve playing dumb.

“You fucking know what, Steve. How could you think something like that?” He begins a tirade but Steve’s voice comes loud and furious across the line.

“You know what, no! You don’t get to pull this shit, Bucky, alright? You chose to cut me out well congratulations you got your wish. But you don’t get to call me up and yell at me for _thinking_ things!”

“My wish!” Bucky yells incredulously.

“Quit being an asshole, Steve. I didn’t ask for any of this, okay?”

“I know, you didn’t ask for me, I get it.” He’s doing that thing where he deliberately misinterprets Bucky’s words and it drives him crazy.

“Fucking stop it, Christ, Steve!” He snarls.

“What do you want from me, Bucky? No really, what the hell are you expecting? That I’m going to be fine and dandy with everything?”

“No, but I expect you to not think that I am!” He snaps so fiercely that it does succeed in shutting Steve up for a minute.

“This isn’t fair, Bucky.” His voice is quiet and shit, already Bucky’s anger starts dissolving into more guilt.

“I know, I, I know, but you can’t expect me to let something like that go!”

“You already did!” Steve explodes.

“You let all of it go and you’re trying to pick and choose what parts of me are acceptable when, why can’t you just fucking let me help you?” He yells, frustration drowning his voice down the line.

“You can’t!” Bucky yells back.

“You can’t help me, there’s no way for you to be near me that doesn’t end shitty, Steve!”

“You don’t know that, please, Buck, I’m not fucking giving up,” There’s a renewed determination in Steve’s voice that Bucky recognises and it scares him. He knows what Steve is like with his mind set on something but if he is anywhere near Bucky now he could be that writhing dummy and Bucky cannot and _will_ not see that happen.

“Fuck, Steve, you don’t get it do you. I don’t...” He can’t say the fucking words he needs to say. They’re caught in his throat and suddenly this conversation has gone too quickly but if he doesn’t stop this now, he’ll be responsible for Steve getting killed. Come on, Barnes, say it.

“You don’t what?”  Steve breathes and goddamn. This isn’t happening.

“I don’t, fuck, I don’t want.. you, I don’t want you, Steve.” He croaks and his heart is hammering and he’s getting a headache as he holds his breath waiting for Steve’s reaction.

“I don’t believe it, Buck.” Steve says, voice thick with emotion and Bucky slumps down, sitting on the floor, fucking defeated. Steve’s so right, it’s so not true, just hearing his voice is making Bucky’s body both speed up and slow down and it’s all okay again but painfully not and why does it have to be so obvious? Why is his heart permanently on his sleeve?

“Doesn’t matter.” He bites out.

“Stay away from me.”

He hangs up and drops the phone into the gravel beneath him. He’s never agreed and disagreed with his own words so much before in his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up - THE BALL - are you even ready?? i'm not.  
> my new fic will be a stevebucky tangled au!! if that floats your boat, watch this space.  
> my tumblr is baustens.tumblr.com please feel free to go and chat to me about this or writing or anything i am posting about my writing a lot now so you can keep informed.  
> thanks to all the commenters and silent readers alike, you're wonderful and the support for this has been insane!  
> again, kudos, comments and bookmarks are amazing and make me write at supersonic speed.  
> okay, super rambly notes done - ilu - belle xx


	18. Don't Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right, so this was tough. i got really upset writing it at some points. it's nearly 8k of angst and pain (8K FUCK SAKE) and i'm sorry but also it's what this fic has been throughout and also it's lovely in a weird way. also sorry for making steve so sad, he's a poor little guy and i am making him sad, what a loser i am! a heads up, mentions of medical issues, violence and loads of general feeling sick. this was the very first thing i planned way back when this was a little seed in my head of teacher steve and firefighter bucky, it was always going to kick off at the ball. there will be one maybe two more chapters of this to wrap things up, but the plan unfolds here. i really hope you like it, i lost myself half way through this fic and didn't like my own writing but i'm getting better now hopefully. let me know what you think - also pretend it's not 2 hours after 4th of july and i uploaded on steve's birthday like i meant to! ((long AN as per usual, please enjoy!))

“Can’t fault Peggy now, I know why she overlooked me, that suit suits you,” Sam says and snorts unceremoniously at his own joke. Steve manages a surreptitious smile from where he’s stood looking at himself in the full length mirror before a heavy eye roll – he’s too nervous for this really.

“Still, a little hurt, a little betrayed, but at least I got some closure.” Sam continues from the doorway and Steve knows he’s trying to lighten the mood and really it’s a nice gesture but it’s falling flat. He can’t stop thinking of Bucky’s face the last time they were together, or how he said he doesn’t want Steve when they spoke on the phone.

At the time he’d been so sure Bucky was closing up, hiding what he really felt, he’s seen Bucky do it enough times before that he’d gotten so mad. He’d yelled and pleaded and probably embarrassed himself but he’d rather Bucky knew he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Still, was he now that guy in Bucky’s head, _that_ guy, the one who doesn’t know when to quit. He guesses he’s always been that guy. Especially when Bucky was involved.

“You’ll be alright, Sam. Sharon’s the only one who wants to see you in a suit anyway,” Steve quips easily but it’s a little hollow. Sam at least pretends not to notice, feigning hurt.

“You wound me, Steven!” He gasps, mock-scandalised.

“And you thrill me, Samuel.” Steve deadpans and Sam chuckles. He sees Steve’s fiddling with his tie for the fiftieth time and sighs, walking over. Steve scowls as he’s spun around and Sam fixes it, a knowing raise to his eyebrows.

“There, perfect.” Sam settles, though they both know he looks exactly the same, still, Steve tries for a thankful smile. Obviously it doesn’t work because Sam gives in, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

“Come one, man. Is worrying yourself to death gonna’ help?” He admonishes and Steve ducks his head, an uncomfortable twitch playing with his lips.

“It’s going to work out, Steve.” He says firmly, all previous levity gone and Steve just clears his throat, scuffing his perfectly shined shoes on the rug in his room.

“I know, I, yeah, just overthinking it I guess,” And it’s not a total lie. He is overthinking it. But what he’s thinking might not be wrong.

“What if,” He starts and Sam tips his head, forcing Steve to meet his eye. He sighs, relenting, Sam is one of the only people Steve somehow can’t not spill his guts to in moments like this. Damn psychic mind. Even at that thought Sam seems to narrow his eyes a little, like he can hear Steve ranting about him silently.

“What if I’m grasping at straws here, what, what if he... Buck’s a real great guy, maybe I’m punching above my weight here doing all this.” Steve mumbles, eye glued to the wall. He sees Sam puff up in his peripheral vision.

“If Barnes is dumb enough to think he’s going to get better than more fool him, man. But if you think that, I’ll knock your damn head against the wall, maybe help you think straight.” Sam sounds stern now and Steve knows all too well what Sam thinks of Bucky but it still makes him shift uncomfortably where he stands.

“He’s told me a bunch of times now he doesn’t want me, what if I’m just kidding myself here and he’s really... really just, just done,” Steve looks up at Sam, eyes a little desperate now and Sam deflates, expression softening.

“I don’t know, man, the guy’s a hard nut to crack but he seemed mad for you. And he does have a lot of shit going on right now.”

“What you’re defending him now?” Steve snaps and why does that make him angry? It’s not like he wants Sam to hate Bucky, but maybe justifying Bucky’s actions make Steve realise he’s not even really a priority here. People’s lives are at stake and Steve wants to yell at Bucky for not being there to hold his hand?

“Sorry,” He mumbles.

“It’s alright, I’m not saying I’m in his fan club but you gotta’ admit he’s got one of the only reasons good enough to be nervous about being with you. No one ever wants to see you get hurt and he’s literally a walking timebomb.” Sam says matter-of-fact and Steve’s stomach clenches. Why is it always somehow about protecting him?

“Does everyone have some complex about protecting me? I’m not a toddler,” He grits out and they fall into a silence.

“You’re not exactly being fair here, Steve. This isn’t an ordinary situation.”

Steve groans and rubs a hand down his face, massaging his jaw a little. He can’t just roll over and let this happen just because it could end in him getting hurt. Bucky already got hurt and Steve never told him it was too dangerous. Sure, he’s not a firefighter, but he’s still a human. An adult. A fighter.

“I meant it you know,” Sam pushes and Steve looks at him questioningly.

“It’s going to work out, if it’s real, you two, it’ll happen.” Steve’s throat feels tight with the lump sitting in it so he just nods.

If it’s real. **Real.** Steve pretends like that thought hasn’t been torturing him for weeks. If he’d imagined passion where it wasn’t there, lingering touches that were actually nothing more than fleeting moments, smiles and soft eyes where there was just, nothing. Nothing real. Not real how Steve wanted it anyway. Or what if it was real but it wasn’t enough, Bucky lost interest, he was just a fling, a mistake. His insides twist frantically and not for the first time that evening he wished he could climb in bed and just hide under the covers until something changed and things were better.

“Steve, it’s time to get going.” Peggy calls from the hallways and Steve winces as he swallows down any emotion threatening to bubble over from his chat with Sam.

“He’s coming.” Sam covers for him and Steve shoots him another weak smile.

“Just go, have fun, show off in your suit he’d be crazy not to trip over himself to get to you. Just, just remind him why he fell for you in the first place, sweep that bastard off his feet.” Sam’s teasing smile is back and it almost helps. It does set a little fire of determination in Steve. He could do that.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been planning on doing but this could be a good idea. He’d tried reasoning with Bucky and it hadn’t worked, if anything it had just made things worse, pushed him further away. Besides, he’s going with Peggy to have fun and he intends to do just that. He’s wearing a ridiculously expensive suit, his hair is gelled but ruffled to pained perfection and he’s sneaked a scotch from Peggy’s stash a little earlier and he’s starting to feel it now in the warmth of his stomach.

“Yeah, I think I might just do that.” He says and his voice is level now, cool even and Sam must see the new, relaxed set of his shoulders because he’s giving Steve a look of approval that feels right.

They walk out into the hallway and are hit by the striking sight of Peggy Carter’s best. She always looks bold and gorgeous but she’s outdone herself this evening. A scarlet fitted dress (her trademark), dipping and swerving around her curves, a luxurious fit to accentuate her figure and the almost plum it fades into complimenting her auburn hair beautifully. She’d paired the number with her classic lipstick heels, a rich maroon lip and her hair is wrapped up into something elegant Steve couldn’t name if he tried but with the few tendrils falling to frame her face and curving to a sweet smile, it’s no wonder Steve used to have a thing for her once upon a time.

“Peggy, you look absolutely beautiful.” He says earnestly and she smiles gently.

“And you look delicious, Rogers. Let’s go and wreak some havoc, shall we?” She raises an eyebrow, and yeah, Peggy Carter is wonderful Steve and Sam decide in unison. They link arms and Sam waves them off, pretending to get teary-eyed as they descend the apartment stairs.

Arriving at the Stately Ball feels like a red carpet event. There are crowds of people outside who somehow naturally part like the red sea for Peggy and by extension, Steve. The structure is also interesting as they have to climb an outdoor staircase before they can enter the building. It’s winding and kind of fairytale and something akin to excitement runs like electricity down the length of Steve’s spine. He’s excited. He wants to laugh. He’s nervous too but the nerves, for once, feel useless and he can put them to the back of his mind.

They finally make it through the crowd and Steve almost laughs when he realises people are moving so slowly because you have to walk down the most grand staircase he’s ever seen one by one to enter the Ball. And, everyone is watching the newcomers descend as they mingle below to a light trickle of music delicately playing from a live band somewhere in the wings of the action. And then Steve actually does laugh, low and quiet, as he realises this scene is somehow familiar.

“Just like the Princess Diaries. Sam’s going to be so jealous,” Peggy smiles, speaking hushed in his ear and Steve huffs another laugh.

“Right, I’m going down first, then you’re going down on your own, make an entrance.” Steve’s head shoots up at her and he’s already shaking his head as they approach the top of the stairs.

“Pegs, please, don’t make me go down on my own, everyone will _stare_ ,” He pleads and Peggy scoffs.

“Yes, they will, but not for the reasons you’re thinking of.”

“Pegs,” Steve’s clinging to her arm now and she laughs heartily.

She leans against him artfully so his arm has to slip to her waist and giggles in his ear, making sure to angle herself so she’s visible to those below. And Steve realises, she’s putting on a show. He doesn’t need to scan the faces below to know Howard’s eyes are probably bulging out of his skull.

“You’ve got this, Rogers.” She mutters in his ear and he laughs playfully against her, joining in their little show. Why not? Then he lets her go and she saunters effortlessly down the stairs and Steve watches her indulgently, enjoying himself a little. He never acts like this.

After a minute he fiddles with the cuff on his sleeve and smiles easily to some women collected at the bottom of the stairs. He glides down the stairs, smirking to himself thinking of the romcom he and Sam watch too many times to be healthy. He’s going to milk his Mia moment. People are staring but not how he sees the usual stares. There’s no pinched lips or glares as far as he can see, though he’s not lingering on anyone’s face in particular. He feels like a new person, a different one, better. He feels confident and bubbly and like he’s walking on air.

Maybe it’s the scotch mixed in a cocktail of underlying nerves and the perfume overdose seeping into his skin from the air. Right now, everything around him outside of this hall is crumbling but here, in this room, surrounded by art and amber lighting, in this bubble of laughter and wine and antiques, he feels like just maybe he can forget that the **real** him will never be good enough.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

You know when you see that you’re going to hurt yourself, a door about to slam on your fingers, something jagged you are already half way to stepping on, your hip on its way to colliding with a sharp corner and you intake breath, maybe even say ouch or cry out in pain before anything happens. That split-second is Bucky’s heartbeat. His palms are sweating and his tie is too tight around his neck, he wants to tug it down so bad.

Every time his eye catches the glint off of a reflective surface his mind automatically thinks it’s a weapon not a wine glass or a cufflink or the light playing with an earring. Every time the shadows in the room undulate with people’s movement coloured in the orange flickers his mind tells him it’s flames. Any noise above a certain level isn’t the clink of a toast or the pluck of a violin string is the beginning of the drill bell.

It’s like he’s stuck on a sharp intake of breath, never getting the release of a sweet exhale. Everything is dangerous and the flit of his eyes and thoughts are jarring. He’s too hot even though his protective gear is the most light-weight thing imaginable which doesn’t help put Bucky’s mind at ease, regardless of how much Howard insisted on splashing out to get top of the range.

He’s already circled the room once, made his introductions, pleasantries. The Hall itself is stunning, undeniably. The chandeliers strung from the high ceiling are casting sparkles on smiling dancers and the music is classical and toned beautifully and any other day Bucky may have actually tried to enjoy himself. However, his eyes keep darting to the balcony, hooded from the ground floor it’s the perfect place for a sniper. He wishes there were some clock or he was wearing watch because time appears to have stopped. They’ve arrived but nothing’s happening, nothing is changing in the atmosphere and it’s like they’re all waiting something. All Bucky can conjure up is that they’re waiting for the show to start, the show of Bucky’s timely and very public murder.

To say he’s panicking is a bit much but his anxiety is making his chest tight and his muscles are so tightly coiled it’s starting to hurt. Howard’s been keeping an eye on him from his post across the room and he even bumped into Chancellor Devon who congratulated him on his bravery particularly in the kidnapping and Bucky can only try for a nod and a smile because he’s not breathing now and his head is starting to thud with the pressure.

He tries to calm down. He’s trained for this and he’s prepped for pretty much every gruesome outcome. He has an earpiece in but they said they’ll only talk to him when he’s about to be targeted – great. He knows where the emergency medical aid is, he knows who can perform CPR  and he knows how to bind wounds. It doesn’t make him feel much better that he’s not allowed to stay with the squad. He has to be a singular target and not draw attention to other possibilities, especially as they know how Bucky was singularly picked out to be tortured.

Only Natasha knows he’s written letters to his Ma, Becca and Steve should he die tonight. She’s promised they’ll get there if they need to, but stressed that there’s no way in hell they’re going to have to be delivered. The thought of his family buckling under the weight of another piece of paper saying they’ve lost someone makes him feel sick. It’s not certain. It’s not certain he’ll die. They gave him 60% odds of survival but he’d seen Natasha’s glare when they’d said it, they were being generous, it definitely was not that high.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of Steve holding a letter with his scrawl on it, some remnants of apology and sentiments he’d tried to write down but he wasn’t good with words like Steve. It was filled with crossings out and smudges and maybe he should’ve typed it but it wouldn’t be as personal that way. Plus, he’s a sentimental little punk, Bucky knows he might get some comfort touching something Bucky had touched and crafted just for him. Now he really wants to be sick. What he wouldn’t give to just have one more conversation, just see him laugh one more time. But who’s he kidding? He’s not going to see Steve an even if he did, Steve probably is well on his way to hating him by now if he’s not arrive at that already.

He turns and is struck dumb. There’s Steve.

He’s got Peggy on his arm and he’s smiling and he looks, he looks _good_. Bucky feels his throat go dry and isn’t even embarrassed that he’s staring, Steve’s not looking his way anyway. He’s taking his time, giving people smiles and Bucky’s heart lurches a little with how much he wants to be on the receiving end of one of those. He’s seen Steve in a suit once or twice before but never like this. It’s clearly been tailored to him and he’s all angles, defined and bold and it’s pretty much mouth-watering. His eyes are bright and that smile isn’t going anywhere and his hair looks perfect to run your hands through. Bucky’s fingers itch to feel that sensation again, he’s done it before. That almost make the longing worse because he knows how good it is.

 As he comes down the stairs Bucky is hit with just how much he’s missed Steve. Their back and forth naturally but also just having him near. Their proximity at this point is unacceptable. Really, Bucky should be pissed, he should be freaking out, getting security to remove him, take him to a safehouse and lock the damn windows and doors. But that selfish part to him that craves his presence and is _whining_ at the sight of Steve in his suit makes him just watch and not do anything to stop it.

Wasn’t he just panicking a second ago? He’s a little dizzy but he doesn’t want to be sick anymore. He knows this isn’t what he needs to be doing, he’s supposed to be on high alert and he is but also he’s perfectly distracted. A man steps up onto the large stage at the other end of the Hall with a microphone.

“The first dance is about to start, find your partners and your rhythm,” He announces and people start shuffling and laughing as they pair off and find a space on the giant dance floor.

He should duck and cover. If there’s a moment to bolt, this is it. But Howard’s words are ringing in his head. And Steve’s from the call. And... fuck it. He just wants to feel at home for a little while, and a walking piece of something warmer than home is just a little way away. He crosses the distance between them and Steve only sees him at the last second, looking up with wide, unreadable eyes.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

He barely hears the announcement before he turns and there’s Bucky Barnes. Standing in front of him looking drop dead gorgeous and holding out his hand, an expression Steve can only half-decipher on his face. It’s like he expects Steve to both take his hand and punch him in the face and he’s happy about either prospect but there’s something else there too and Steve doesn’t have long enough to study the expression because he has to react.

Bucky waits patiently, hand outstretched, not moving any closer but not leaving. He’d expected Bucky to flip if he was there, or get one of the squad to drag him out but, this was something he hadn’t prepared for. How incredible that in a room full of art that Steve’s drooled over and studied for his entire life, he can’t take his eyes off the guy who’s been grinning next to Steve since pretty much day one.

He places his hand in Bucky’s and Bucky rewards him with this blinding smile and Steve chokes on air a little. He doesn’t know what they are here. But he is desperate not to ruin it. He even lets Bucky lead and he pulls them further into the centre of the dance floor than he would have expected but then Bucky’s pulling him in close and all other thoughts are dropping out of view. His warm hand resting on Steve’s hip is safe and he wants to laugh at how ridiculously right this feels. They’re still silent and Steve puts his other hand on Bucky’s shoulder and glances up at him through his lashes, flickers of their living room dance lessons lingering in his mind.

The music picks up into something rich and flowing and even without lyrics it’s obviously a love song but it’s a touch darker than you’d expect. Steve is getting wrapped up in the moment, trying to memorise everything about this before it can turn sour. Maybe he’s dreaming, it wouldn’t be that shocking, this feels far too good to be true. They start moving, nothing too fancy but their footwork is good and Bucky’s smile is sitting comfortably as he watches Steve blush. He daren’t even breathe too loudly in fear of bursting this bubble. But he’s asthmatic. So he doesn’t try too hard on that because if one thing were to ruin the mood, it would definitely be an asthma attack.

“I missed you.” Bucky says suddenly and Steve gulps.

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Bucky’s clearly on the same page as Steve and doesn’t want to say anything to ruin this. Clearly there’s more going on and Bucky’s sudden change on tune is throwing Steve off but he’d determined to stick to his plan and not freak out. They have the chance to be Steve and Bucky for a while and he’s going to enjoy it.

“You shouldn’t be here, Rogers.” Bucky whispers but he’s tightening his grip and pulling Steve in, his arm slipping around his waist and Steve shudders a breath. He’s getting ready for Steve to flip, maybe make a scene. He blushes when he realises it’s probably not beyond him to do something like that but he’s not going to.

“You going to chuck me out, Barnes?” He shoots back just as quietly, letting a playful smirk draw Bucky’s eyes to his lips. A jolt of exhilaration shoots through him when Bucky licks his own lips, apparently without even realising. His grip tightens again and it’s so amazing to be this close.

“Not yet.” He smiles and Steve’s about 75% sure his knees are going to give out. He’s overjoyed Bucky is playing along, maybe he can convince Bucky that they can do this, after all. He deliberately leans closer so his head is leant on Bucky’s shoulder a little and he shivers a little when Bucky’s breath ghosts against his ear.

“You look good in a suit, Rogers.”

“Better out of it, Barnes.” Steve retorts, playing Bucky at his own game and smirking triumphantly at the little sound he lets out, half laugh, half groan. They’re artfully dodging all the tension and fear and pain and is it supposed to be this easy? But then again, it’s always easy with Bucky, when their guards are down, it’s the easiest thing in the world. They dance quietly for a little longer, the song taking them through their steps and keeping them in time, before Steve leans back.

“Missed you, Buck.” He says, and he can hear the sadness in his own voice and something dampens in Bucky’s expression but fires up in his eyes.

“I _miss_ you. Even right now. This isn’t real, is it?” Steve says, remembering Sam’s words earlier, his voice low and pained and Bucky’s expression screws up before he schools it as best he can.

He doesn’t give any warning before he closes the small distance between them and kisses Steve soundly. It’s blunt and desperate at first but it quickly melts and Steve’s hand slips up his shoulders and into his hair, threading through it and gripping his other hand tightly as Bucky’s arm is an iron force keeping them close. He barely lets Steve breathe before he dips back and kisses him again, sweet and scorching lips burning Steve’s and he’s just feeling every wall of anger and hurt and rejection he’s felt build in him from the past few weeks being knocked down, disintegrated when Bucky does that thing with his tongue and yeah, his knees are buckling if this carries on.

They finally relent, and there are enough couples dancing that no one is really paying attention to them. Bucky briefly just presses his forehead against Steve’s and something heavy is hanging in the air unsaid and it’s making Steve’s insides twist again. Bucky’s not angry and he’s kissing like it’s the first time or the last time and that thought alone makes Steve brush their lips together again because Bucky doesn’t get to do that. He doesn’t get to make peace with something hidden and leave Steve again. Not this time.

“This is real.” Bucky breathes and Steve’s eyes are stinging for some reason he can’t figure out. Bucky’s hand is trembling as he lifts it from Steve’s waist, which feels horribly cold now, and traces a line down Steve’s jaw with his fingertips.

“Don’t do that.” Steve says, voice thick and his eyes are swimming with tears because he knows Bucky and there’s something final here, something lingering, like he’s savouring a moment he really should be moving on from. Bucky’s expression clouds and a crease appears between his eyes.

“Do what?”

“Say goodbye without saying goodbye.” Steve gasps out and they’re barely moving now but it doesn’t matter because Bucky’s heart breaks right there on his face, plain as day and Steve’s right. He’s saying goodbye. This is it. Tears are falling now and he can’t stop them and he refuses to let go of Bucky to wipe them but he’s shuddering in breaths and Bucky’s eyes are wild on his face.

“Hey, shh, no, Stevie, please don’t cry.” His voice is wrecked now and Steve wants to bury his face into Bucky’s chest but he needs to look at him. He brushes a thumb across Steve’s cheek, swiping away some tear tracks which are quickly replaced and he, miraculously, puts his arm back around Steve’s waist and Steve can at least breathe a little more knowing Bucky’s close.

“What’s going to happen?” Steve gulps.

“Nothing, nothing’s going to happen, Steve.” Bucky protests quickly, still trying to calm him but it only makes it worse.

“Don’t lie to me, Buck. Are you, are you leaving?” Steve chokes out and he’s scared and already heartbroken but he’s still Steve Rogers, so he holds Bucky’s eye, careful to watch for any sign he’s not telling the truth.

“Stevie, I, I don’t know yet.” Bucky half-truths and they both know it. The old familiar itch to sketch Bucky sets into Steve’s fingers as he gazes up at the man who looks a little broken right then. The song is changing now but it’s slower and sadder and Steve really doesn’t want a soundtrack for his ongoing heartbreak, thanks. He’s stopped the tears but they’re clinging on, unshed in his eyes and his vision is glazed, making Bucky look soft and fuzzy like some distant character from one of the 90’s films that always make Steve cry.

“I wrote you a letter.” Bucky tries and he looks like he’s just as blind to what he’s supposed to be doing as Steve feels.

“A letter?” Bucky nods, swallowing hard and glancing away and Steve’s chest is so tight now, he would mistake this for some awful asthma attack if he hadn’t felt this particular breed of heartbreak before.

“Uh, yeah.” Bucky clears his throat.

“Nat’s got it, and she’ll give it to you. After.”

“After what?” Steve asks and Bucky closes his eyes and his teeth are grit and Steve’s throat seems to close up as hot angry tears spill down his face at full speed now, not slowly like before. Steve’s hand is a fist on Bucky’s jacket lapel now and his hand is nearly cramping from how hard he’s gripping Bucky’s hand.

“Bucky, after what?” Steve pushes and suddenly the music is too loud, deafeningly loud and people’s laughter is too close and the lights are too bright and the bubble has burst and everything is invading. How are people carrying on like nothing was happening?

“Just, fuck, Steve,” Bucky’s eyes open and they’re blue and deep and swimming too and his smile is broken and beautiful and unbearable. He kisses away the tears on either side of Steve’s face but fresh ones are already threatening to fall.

“I’m really sorry, for everything. I pretty much did everything wrong but you’re still here, somehow, God knows why.” Bucky says and Steve can see him editing his words and he’s kind of furious that he doesn’t get to hear everything. He’s trying to say goodbye and fix things before he goes but something tells Steve this isn’t an ordinary goodbye and he can’t help but think back to when he had to watch Bucky run into the library where he could have easily died.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Bucky says suddenly and it’s obvious and too much and not enough at the same time and Steve feels so dizzy, clinging onto Bucky.

“You know I just need you, I need you, Bucky.” He blurts out and Bucky frowns but a sad smile is toying with his lips.

“No you don’t, you can live without me, Stevie,” Bucky allows and that’s so not okay Steve’s hurting his head from how hard he’s shaking it and frowning.

“Even,” He gasps and tries to slow his breath down.

“Even if that was true, I don’t want to.” He sobs openly and Bucky brings both hands to cup Steve’s face instantly and they’re stood still in a hall of people getting quicker, dancing around their little tragedy and Bucky’s eyes are fierce with everything he hasn’t said and needs to.

“Buck, I lo–”

“Steve, don’t.” Bucky cuts in and he looks pained but not angry, it’s a desperation and he touches his ear a little and his eyes are flying around the room now and whatever’s happening, it’s happening now.

“Buck–” He tries again, defiant. He needs Bucky to know, even if it just makes things hurt more.

“No, just, you didn’t want me to say goodbye, so don’t you do it, don’t you ever say goodbye to me again, Steve Rogers.” The sincerity in his voice is too much and Steve can’t help it, he falls into Bucky, sobbing into his chest as he realises he can’t stop this. He’s losing Bucky and he can’t stop it.

“My little punk,” Bucky is saying into his hair, pressing kisses intertwined with words and Steve closes his eyes to savour the feeling, tears wracking sobs down his spine and punching through his chest.

“Tell me you know, you gotta’ know.” Bucky forces out, and Steve’s heart must physically shatter for the pain he’s feeling right then.

“I know, Buck.” He manages and that’s it. That’s the goodbye. They both lied.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Bucky’s feels his chest heaving and he wants nothing more than to scoop Steve up and hightail it out of there or even just stay, huddled in the safety of a crowd in which they can hold each other, unnoticed and invisible. But he can’t. He has a hissing in his ear telling him he doesn’t have long and he needs to get into position for the medal giving so they can quickly set up their last checks.

He’s looking up to the balcony and is he imagining seeing movement up there? Regardless, he’s on edge now. His muscles are so tightly bound it’s as if he’s bracing for impact right there and Steve clearly notices because suddenly he’s looking at Bucky with red-rimmed eyes and a blotchy face, tear tracks staining his cheeks and he knows the air has shifted. Thankfully and also awfully, Steve doesn’t speak but he does whimper when Bucky extricates himself from their tangle of arms. A ridiculous part of hi is disappointed when Steve doesn’t cling on but he masks it as best he can.

They stand for a second and Bucky nods at him to signal... something. He’s not quite sure what but it needs to be said somehow. Steve seems to understand or at least wants to renew the gesture because he nods back. And then Bucky turns away, he only lets himself glance back once and Steve has already disappeared into the crowd which stings.

Dodging through people he tries to force down any emotion that has bubbled up and is currently swarming in the discomfort behind his eyelids and in his throat. He deftly side-steps the more enthusiastic dancers to reach the other side of the hall, catching Howard’s eye from where he’s stood and glancing over to see the squad. He almost laughs at their attempt to be nonchalant and subtle, firefighters don’t have much need to go low profile and it’s a damn good thing. They’re not dancing and they look beyond skittish, hovering at the edges of the movement. Still, he’s comforted by their presence.

_Please don’t let me die._

There, he’s thought it once and now he can put it out of his head. The Commandos and his back up team and Steve, they’re all here, rooting for him. In their own ways. He’s trying not to fidget with his sleeves and squeezes his eyes shut tightly until colours are exploding behind them. Opening them again there’s a fading red pot in his vision and for one hysterical moment he thinks it’s the light of a sniper and nearly ducks and rolls.

The person in his ear tells him to relax and stay calm. He can do this.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Steve’s stumbling through the crowd. People keep colliding with him but he can scarcely feel it. He mumbles apologies that get drowned in the music and the twisting of limbs and skirts but it’s all muffled. He feels as if he’s underwater as has no desire to resurface for air. His eyes are just glued to the next stretch of wooden floor that’s clear, he meets no one’s eye and has no clue whereabouts he is.

Somewhere in his mind he knows he should find Peggy, she can calm him down. But they came here to have a good time – what if she’s with Howard and having a great time? He always ruins things for people, he refuses to seek out Peggy and spoil her night, not yet anyway, let her have fun for a little while longer before Steve burdens her anymore.

Suddenly he’s through the bustle of people and out the other side. He turns and sees the crowds all either dancing or watching the action and there’s next to no one actually looking at all the art strung up which makes Steve a little defensive on its behalf. However, he completely overlooked all of it to dance with Bucky and even that thought floods him with some petering adrenaline and sadness.

He can feel his breathing getting harsher and more erratic and he knows he really needs to calm down or he’ll have an asthma attack. He starts looking at the art and naming all the pieces he can see and there are so many. He has yet to see one he doesn’t recognise and a few of his favourites are here, some are replicas and some are originals and they’re guarded by a low hanging red rope which is near enough to the art that it need not be there other than a reminder to children really and there are none here.

He finds a couple of pieces that he saw in Europe and memories of Sam and Peggy actually help him hugely to relax. He stops gulping in air and is breathing steady, keeping a sharp focus on the art because if he swerves, if he loses it for one second then he’ll spiral and he can’t, not here and not now. He takes out the tiny notebook from his jacket pocket and the little pencil he’d stuffed in there last minute and is now so relieved he brought them.

He starts gently sketching the piece he’s looking at. It helps that it’s an engraving – this side of the gallery area appears to be the religious pieces and they often appear on the curriculum Steve teaches and the familiarity of the art helps put him at ease. Any time his mind begins to drift he forces his eyes to see more in the engraving and his hand to grip the pencil harder, grounding himself here in the art and nowhere else.

“Dürer, taken out?” Steve turns to respond to the voice but sees it comes from a man standing next to another man a few feet away, staring at a different piece. Steve glances back to the engraving he’s been looking at and it’s definitely Albrecht Dürer’s engraving of Adam & Eve, 1504, Steve’s art buff comments smugly.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” A voice cuts through Steve’s thoughts and he jolts where he stands and the hall erupts into applause and some cheers are interspersed. From where he’s standing Steve can just make out the top half of Bucky as he walks onto the stage and he looks... wrong. Something isn’t right.

“Do we see equilibrium for sin?” The other man standing a few feet away replies confusingly and Steve’s unwillingly torn to concentrate on the piece they’re looking at. It’s a replica of Lucas Cranach’s The Elder’s Adam and Eve, 1526. These are the sort of pieces that people don’t really talk about in depth unless they know the context and this whole piece is showing the equilibrium before the Christian interpretation having Eve sin and the fall of humanity. It’s the first thing you learn about the painting and that’s not a question you ask if you don’t know it’s context and something about how they’re just standing and staring, not _looking_ , nags at Steve.

“Thanks, I, uh, I really never expected anything like this,” Bucky’s voice tears Steve’s attention away and his smile is fixed and his eyes are subtle and if you didn’t know him you’d think he was just nervous and embarrassed about getting the award.

“It’s a real honour and I can only say thank you and that my team deserve this as much as I do.” He continues and it’s recited spiel and he’s not even focusing, he’s looking for something, what is he looking for? Steve thinks for one insane moment maybe he’s looking for him, but his heart sinks as quickly as it rises because little things begin to make themselves clear.

He catches a glimpse of Howard off to the edge of the stage and he’s muttering something to no one. Then he sees the Commandos slowly making their way to the stage, a few covering exits, fanning out. It clicks. They’re expecting something to happen whilst Bucky’s on the stage.

“No, Phlegmatic is not ready for Sanguine.” The first man responds and Steve snaps his head back. He fights the urge to ask them to shut the hell up and also ask them what the hell they’re talking about. Something about them is setting his nerves on fire. Why are they the only ones not watching the stage?

“We all do this job because we want to keep people safe and save lives.” Bucky is carrying on and really, are people honestly buying that he’s okay as he speaks, he’s so obviously on edge it’s making Steve’s shoulders rise just watching him from this distance.

Wait.

His brain kicks in and is practically growling at Steve for not paying attention. He turns to a new page in his notebook and starts scribbling down notes, trying to make sense of what isn’t sitting right though he feels ridiculous for obsessing over art when Bucky’s in danger but his instincts are screaming at him that something is very, very wrong and it’s close.

His eyes a darting back up to Bucky who continues to speak and then back down to his notebook where he’s scrawling down notes. The two men aren’t moving from their spot glued, watching the painting.

_‘Phlegmatic is not ready for sanguine.’_

  * _Reference to Dürer’s four humours/human personality types_
  * _Correlate with specific fluids in the body_



They’re speaking in code. It’s obvious enough that Steve wants to slap himself across the face. And he calls himself an Art History Professor.

“Nothing is more important than the safety of civilians.” Bucky’s voice rings out and Steve’s heart pangs. He never thinks about his own safety. Steve’s going to have to do that for him. He’s fighting the urge to back away from the motionless men in front of the painting and starts trying to decipher the code.

_Phlegmatic and Sanguine are two of the four humours/personality types._

  * _Phlegmatic = ox / phlegm_
  * _Sanguine = rabbit / blood_



_Ox – reference to human behaviour, in charge, dominant, leader._

Steve’s staring at his notes, glancing back up at Bucky who’s getting shifty now and back to the two statues in front of the painting who look large enough to snap Steve in half with no problem. There’s just something within Steve that knows something is wrong about this situation looking at them. His notes are taunting him.

“I’m more than ready to get back on the job.” Steve registers Bucky speaking absently and his mind sticks to the word ‘ready’.

_Phlegmatic is not ready for sanguine._

_Phlegmatic, ox, in charge, the boss, isn’t ready for sanguine, rabbit blood._

_It’s Bucky, the rabbit, the blood._

_The boss isn’t ready to kill him._

Steve’s vision seems to blur with this realisation and the world seems to slant on its edge all of a sudden. Things aren’t muffled anymore, everything’s painfully sharp and the sudden clarity is horrible. Bucky’s voice is piercing and the silence of the men is slicing into him and he can’t bring himself to lift his eyes from the notebook.

He gulps heavily and looks up, freezing when he sees the man who spoke first is staring at him and his friend has disappeared. The man is slowly turning fully to him, and there’s a twist to his mouth that might be a smile but whatever it is, Steve doesn’t like it. He takes a step towards him and Steve is frozen in place. The other man is gone, though. Shit. Where’s the other man. Steve lets his eyes wander frantically around the hall, trying to see the other would be statue.

Goon 1 seems to see he’s looking around for his accomplice, affectionately nicknamed Goon 2, no doubt, and starts walking towards Steve with purpose, not too quickly but quick enough for Steve to start backing up. They’re trying not to draw attention to themselves, that’s the one thing Steve has to his advantage, they are trying to keep a low profile. Should he run? Should he scream? Should he fight? What’s going to put Bucky in the least danger? From where he’s stood on the stage, everyone has a perfect vantage point, and this has to have been set up but it doesn’t stop Steve from panicking.

That’s when Steve spots Peggy in the crowd, watching Bucky on stage with an expression of reluctant respect, like she wants to stay pissed but Bucky, being Bucky, is making it hard. And Steve feels for her but he also needs her help. He scribbles down:

_BUCKY IS THE RABBIT GET DOWN_

It’s all he can think to write as the angry suit man starts getting too close and there are people behind Steve, blocking him in, facing away. No one can help him, but he can help Bucky if he moves quick enough. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Goon 2 in the crowd and he’s got something in his hands but Steve can’t make it out but it’s directed at Bucky and his breath is starting to seize in his chest. If he yells, the guy will shoot.

He starts side-stepping through the crowd, getting a few disgruntled looks from people he nudges past but no one seems to notice his panic as the suited man follows him through the crowd. God, why is the hall so big? Peggy is getting closer but she’s not close enough and by the time Steve gets to her, Goon 1 will be on him.

“So I hope everyone has a good night!” Bucky’s finishing up and the guy in the crowd is raising his arm and Steve chokes.

“Peggy,” Steve calls and throws his notebook at her and Peggy Carter, fucking miracle Margaret Carter, catches it, scans it in a heartbeat and yells all in the same moment.

“Everyone down!” She bellows and a jolt flies through the crowd as people start getting down and running and some are huddling together and the man with the weapon is somewhat revealed in the middle of the cowering crowd and people start to scream as they see his weapon.

Suddenly, an arm reaches around Steve’s face and is clamping down over his mouth and nose and he already wasn’t breathing right. The other gives a sharp punch into his side and winds him further. Goon 1 is trying to keep him quiet, they’re at the back so he could slip away in the commotion. Bucky’s still on the stage, his hand to his ear, and he looks angry and determined like he’s waiting for something and his eyes are scanning the crowd until he sees the man with the weapon. He’s waiting for someone to give him the go ahead to move. Who the fuck is making Bucky stay on that stage?

Steve sees the little red blotch appear on Bucky’s throat of a weapon’s aim and Steve bites down on the man’s hand as hard as he can, tasting blood. It’s all he can do to breathe in a jagged, excruciating breath before screaming.

“BUCK, MOVE!” He roars and Bucky’s head snaps over and Steve hears gunshots and screams but his vision’s blacked out and he’s falling. He’s not unconscious when he hits the ground but it’s only a second after when he slips under.

When he comes to, it’s to chaos. People are screaming, really screaming and sprinting to the exits and Steve vaguely thinks he can hear Dum Dum’s voice yelling at people to get out from somewhere in the disorder. He winces as he tries to open his eyes properly and clear the blotches from his vision, head pounding and he gulps in breaths like a dying man. People are standing on him as they stampede to try and get out and there’s more gunshots that make the screams increase and Steve hiss to attention.

Bucky. Where is Bucky?

He pulls himself to his feet which is no easy task and he can’t see Peggy or any of the Commandos and he prays they’re safe before he staggers forwards, people slamming into him from all sides as they run in the opposite direction to him. He sees full on fist fights in the centre of the room and glimpses Goon 1 and Goon 2 in there somewhere. With everyone rushing him Steve can’t make out the stage and he’s shoving his way through, Bucky’s not standing on it at least anymore, thank God.

But then Steve gets a quick glance through some fleeing party-goers and sees Bucky dragging himself across the stage and there’s a trail of blood coming from somewhere. Something cold in Steve sets ablaze at the sight and he’s forcing his way through. He’s screaming Bucky’s name but there’s no way anyone can hear him. More gunshots and Bucky’s movements are getting weaker and no, hang on, Steve is thinking to himself desperately, maybe even saying out loud as he trips and surges across the hall. Why is it so fucking big?

Finally, he’s at the edge of the stage and he’s hoisting himself up and dashing over to Bucky, sliding down next to him and turning him over so Steve can pull him from under his arms off the stage and out of sight. Bucky screams when Steve gets to work and Steve’s shushing him but tears are coursing down his face because Bucky’s covered in blood and his face is pale and he isn’t opening his eyes yet just screaming. When they’re covered by the edge of the stage so no one can see them in plain view Steve pulls Bucky into his lap and wipes his hair from his forehead and then looks down to see where blood is pouring out from Bucky’s leg.

“Buck, it’s alright, I’ve got you, Buck, I’ve got you, you’re okay,” Steve babbles as he moves down and takes off his jacket, ready to try and bind the wound. Bucky’s eyes open lazily and he’s breathing jagged and wrong.

“Stevie?” He slurs and Steve wants to crumple but he can’t, Bucky needs him.

“Yeah, Buck, s’okay, m’ gonna’ get you out of here, just let me strap up your leg, okay,” Steve keeps talking and his hands are shaking as he starts to lift Bucky’s leg and Buky can’t help screaming out in pain and then biting it down and choking down sobs.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, fuck, Buck, I’m so sorry, you gotta’ hold on, it’ll hurt but I gotta’ do it,”

“It hurts, Steve,” Bucky whimpers and Steve is being pulled apart. He’s being torn off piece by piece, seeing Bucky so hurt.

He has to steel himself and then does it quickly. Gritting his teeth against the strangled screams he binds Bucky’s leg with his jacket as best he can but the wound is a weird colour and his stomach sinks when he realises it’s probably not a normal injury from these psychos, Bucky needs to get to the hospital.

“I’m going to get you out, to a doctor, Buck, okay,” Steve says in a flurry but Bucky isn’t stirring anymore and Steve turns to ice.

“Buck?” Still nothing.

“Bucky!” He’s yelling and wiping tears from Bucky’s expressionless face and he’s warm but he’s so still.

“Fuck, please, Bucky, Christ, please, stay, you gotta’ stay awake, Buck,” Steve chokes, not letting himself believe the worst.

Without warning, people are grabbing Steve and pulling him away and he kicks and screams even though Bucky is being taken on a stretcher which clearly belongs to an ambulance but Steve can’t leave him. He’s done this before, he’s seen Bucky laid out cold and unresponsive on a table and he can’t do it again but he can’t leave him. He’s not sure who has him in an iron grip and he can’t even hear his own cries in the sheer noise but something change and the edges of his vision are blurring and he can feel the haze drifting onto him and he can’t fight it anymore.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Steve wakes up and feels like he’s slept for seventy years. His limbs are heavy as if he were water-logged and his eyes are un-cooperative for a few seconds. It’s like each part of his body is taking its own time to switch on as he registers the beeping of hospital machines and feels the scratch of rough blankets and the empty hospital room is no comfort to him.

On cue, a doctor walks in followed by Sam and Peggy and Steve breathes out a little just to know she got out safe, though she looks bruised at the very least.

“Steve,” She breathes and he can tell she’s crying before she even is fully in the room. He sits up and swings his legs off of the bed and the doctor and Sam are ready to protest but he surges forward, enveloping Peggy in his arms and she sobs against him. He’s dizzy with the sudden movement and sluggish no doubt from medication but he’s alive and that’s important at least.

“Mr Rogers, you’ve suffered a serious concussion and minor bruising of your ribs, you need to rest.” The doctor implores but Steve’s shaking his head and Peggy releases him, pulling herself together.

“Where’s Bucky?”

“Told ya’,” Sam said with a disapproving look to the doctor and Steve could see that Sam had warned what Steve’s priorities would be. A swell of affection for Sam in that moment washed over him.

“Mr Barnes is recovering in the room across the hall, he, he did ask for you,” The doctor says warily but Steve lights up.

“He’s awake?” He breathes, elated and relieved.

“Yes, well,” The doctor hedges and Sam and Peggy are looking at him with an apology in their eyes and Steve’s happiness dampens into slight dread.

“Can I go in to him?” He asks but he’s already leaving the room and ignoring the doctor’s suggestion of bed rest and breathing exercises.

The others don’t follow him to go and see Bucky which he appreciates but he’s also nervous. He walks into the room cautiously but he can’t help rushing over when he sees Bucky sleeping soundly on the bed. He takes a hold of Bucky’s hand and presses his lips to it gently.

“Buck?” He whispers and Bucky’s eyes flutter open and he glances to Steve, confusion colouring his features and Steve’s heart stops.

“Steve?” He asks with a little smile and Steve grins at him and can’t help ducking his head kissing him gently but fiercely. Bucky makes a noise of surprise but he sighs into Steve’s mouth and lifts a hand to card into Steve’s messy hair, moaning lightly. Steve pulls away and Bucky looks awestruck.

“That was... wow,” He coughs and Steve didn’t expect that response but he blushes and dips his head down for another kiss which has Bucky whimpering into his mouth and yeah, that’s fucking amazing.

“Wait, Steve, when did you get back into town?” Bucky asks, though his eyes are constantly sinking down to Steve’s lips.

“Back into town?” Steve repeats, bemused.

“Short-term memory loss,” The doctor’s voice makes Steve spin around and gape at him.

“Memory loss?”

“Wait, Steve, you’ve been back for a while now?” Bucky asks, incredulous and Steve is lost and a little broken in this hospital room. Bucky can’t remember him. Not how they were. Not how they are together. He’s forgotten everything that happened.

“Bucky,” He turns and he’s gasping in air and his teeth grind together as he feels the familiar wave of being overwhelmed flooding him.

“I’m completely in love with you, have been for years, totally, fucking ridiculously in love with you, hear me?” Steve declares and Bucky is staring at him wide-eyed and opening and closing his mouth and a dazed smile is on his face and he might be nodding but he moves in bed and then hisses in pain, rolling his eyes back.

“I’m turning up your morphine setting, Mr Barnes, you need sleep,” The doctor cuts in a little awkwardly. Steve’s a bit disappointed, hoping for more of a moment but Bucky’s in no shape to chat let alone make declarations of feelings he can’t even _remember_. It takes a remarkably short time for Bucky to slip unconscious and Steve rounds on the doctor helplessly and he looks sympathetic but unsure.

“As far as we can see, it appears temporary but we can’t know for sure until we’ve properly analysed the toxins he has in his system. We don’t recognise the chemicals in his bloodstream so we can’t make any promises, but he already remembers more than he did earlier today.” He explains and maybe Steve’s swallowed his own tongue because he just slumps onto the edge of Bucky’s bed and nods.

“We’ve given him some counter toxins and are attempting to flush the aggressive virus out, but it looks positive, seeing as the weapon didn’t hit it’s target, which I hear is down to you, Mr Rogers. You have most likely saved this man’s memory if not his life.” The doctor says solemnly, respect thick in his voice but Steve still can’t speak. He seems to understand and goes to leave before doubling back and pulling out a little envelope from his pocket.

“A young woman left this for you, Natasha?” He questions and Steve nods, holding his hand out.

“She said you don’t need this but you deserve to have it. I’m not quite sure what that means but it’s addressed to you so it’s yours.” The doctor concludes and hands over the envelope, Steve’s name etched in Bucky’s handwriting on the outside. The doctor leaves and closes the door, giving Steve some privacy.

For a while he can’t even open the letter. He just stares at Bucky’s sleeping form and lets relief drown him because whatever else, Bucky’s alive and he _does_ remember Steve. He just doesn’t remember all of him. Also, he doesn’t have to worry about making his feelings clear again because he skipped the months of awkwardness and dived in and Bucky wasn’t shoving him away. But he was doped up on morphine with memory loss after a serious trauma so it’s touch and go on deciphering what that means.

It finally becomes too much and he opens the letter. The crossings out and little arrows make Steve’s heart swell before he even begins reading but the letter is so painfully Bucky and so filled with love and sadness he is trembling a mere two lines in. Half way through he chokes out a sob and covers his mouth with one hand. The end of the letter leaves Steve’s muffled crying drawn out and horrifyingly bittersweet. _Please, please remember you love me_ , is all Steve can think as he bites down on his hand so as not to wake Bucky up, reading and re-reading the end line.

 ‘ _I hope you’ll forgive me, for leaving you, and for saying that I’d die a thousand times to keep you safe. I love you.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right - it's 2am and i've cried to my intense playlist whilst writing this. i know there's a lot going on and it's a mishmash and honestly i can't tell if this is any good but it made me upset just writing it, which means either it's good or it's really bloody bad. if you've read this far, wow, thank you and congratulations!! i am exhausted and i am already planning on how to wrap this up and i have my next fic partly done already ((also thanks for the response to Let's Get Personal, that was NOT expected and people loved it!)) i love you all and i've learnt so much writing this, i started this in sixth form and now i've finished my first year of uni and wow, i'm emotional. i'll stop. i'm trying to learn what kind of writer i want to be and you're all helping me. let me know what you thought and don't hate me for making author's notes as long as the chapter. all my love, belle x


	19. Burning Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky slowly but surely build up a life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it! trying not to get emotional. i've put off writing this chapter for so long wow and as this story got away from me bc i am a terrible writer who refused to plan, i began to like it less but i was determined to finish it. actually loved writing this last chapter. sorry i wasn't more dedicated to this but i hope you've found some enjoyment from my mismatched under par writing! you've all been wonderful! onto the next! (next fic's first chapter might get put up tonight, depending on how daring i'm feeling) thank you, i love you, i hope you stay with me for future projects. xxx

5th April

Steve blinks awake, limbs and back stiff from sleeping in the hospital chair for another night. Wiping away the remaining sleep in his eyes he found himself being stared at. Bucky didn’t say anything but he didn’t look away either.

“I can’t,” He stopped and Steve’s heart lurched painfully.

“I can’t remember,” Bucky frowned deeply, eyes searching Steve’s.

“That’s okay, you will.” Steve assured with some effort to keep his tone steady. Bucky’s eyes turned worried and he sat forwards as much as he could in bed.

“You’re sad?”

“I, I, no just, just worried about you, idiot.” He smiled a little but he may as well not have tried for all the good it did fooling either of them.

“Stevie,” Bucky smiled pleadingly. It was a silent ‘you can trust me’ and Steve may have shattered inside just a tiny bit.

“It’s okay, really, you just,” He’s not even sure what he should say. Bucky nods and his eyes are on his hands now.

“I don’t remember, right?” He says and he sounds... guilty?

“Hey, no don’t do that, it doesn’t matter. You’re okay, that’s all that matters,” Steve says emphatically.

“It does matter because whatever I forgot put that look on your face,” He’s glaring at the sheets he’s picking at.

“Buck, come on,” Steve sighs.

“I feel like I just got you back but, you, you know a lot more than me, huh?” And he’s searching Steve again, like he can pull his memories back if he looks hard enough.

“I know you, you know me. You know that hasn’t changed, that’ll never change.” He says firmly, a bit more angrily than he means to. Bucky lets out a big gust of air but nodded and it was earnest enough that there was a silent agreement between the two of them.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

21st April

“Buck, this is important.” Steve jumps on the bed, jostling Bucky some more. He hasn’t moved from where he shoved his head under the pillow when Steve had crashed into his apartment five minutes ago, let in by the treacherous cretins he called flatmates.

“What’s the point, I can only remember like half of what happened.” He grumbled into the pillowcase. Steve shoved him harder.

“Come on, it’s the hearing, you can’t miss it, your testamony is going to save lives.” Steve says solemnly and Bucky groans and rolls over, squinting up at Steve who is dressed up for court, hair slicked and all – ruining the nice press by bouncing on the bed.

“Well, look at you suited and booted,” Bucky smirks at Steve’s bashful smile.

“You’re going to help keep a lot of people safe today, Buck.” Steve says in that mushy proud voice that makes Bucky want to do better.

“Steve, it’s not going to change anything, they just want to plaster my face on the news.” He grimaced. Steve smacks him on the arm, drawing another yowl of protest from him.

“You’re actions have an impact, Bucky. You’re important.” He snaps, leaning into his personal space and they’re close enough it’s a little stifling.

Bucky’s eyes jump fractionally down to his lips and back up slowly – reluctantly. Steve dips his head a little but hesitates. It’s a weird situation to be in, Steve dressed in his Sunday best and Bucky in boxers and a ratty old t shirt. Steve had been the one to enforce the rules about boundaries until Bucky got his full memory back so he didn’t feel he was taking advantage.

“Where are your rules now?” Bucky muttered challengingly. Steve takes a deep breath and pushes away, standing up and off the bed whilst Bucky makes no attempt to hide his eyeroll.

“Still playing this game, then?”

“It’s not a game, Buck, Jesus, your recovery is –”

“Important! I get it already.” Bucky snaps, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so he’s sitting facing away from Steve.

“We can’t rush into anything.. big, until we know you’re alright. I want to do this right.” Steve says and he sounds so apologetic and sincere that Bucky feels like a jerk. He turns and shoots him an understanding half-smile half-grimace.

“Yeah, buddy. Whatever you need.”

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

12th May

“He’s in his room. Hiding.” Natasha says trying to mask her concern with some amusement. Steve nods and walks in wordlessly.

Bucky is sat on the floor by his window, elbows resting on his knees, arms dropped down and his head tilted back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t bother looking to check who it is closing his bedroom door behind them.

“He ratted them all out. Even Pierce.” Bucky’s voice was neutral but dangerously so.

The endless hearings had taken their toll on everyone involved, even Natasha looked weary, if still dazzling. Then one of the main lab technicians working for Hydra, the octopus organisation who’d organised all the bombs, the fires, the kidnap, the Ball, everything, he’d squeaked. An offer of a reduced sentence and parole offered to him he sold out his entire organisation. Pierce had been the last name but once it was out, evidence seemed to appear from nowhere. Other Hydra agents selling out whilst they had the chance once the ball was set rolling it was like knocking down pins.

Blueprints, meeting minutes, emails, recorded telephone calls even remote camera footage placing many unsuspecting civil servants and workers into the public and secret service’s eye. Pierce had yet to talk but enough people had talked for him to put him at the top rung of the ladder. The thought of him being in such close proximity to Steve for so long made Bucky sick to his stomach.

“Yeah. It’s all over now, Buck. Too much evidence stacked up in the public eye for them to worm their way out. Plus everyone wants justice for the 107th.” Steve explains quietly, walking over to drop down on the floor next to him. Bucky fixes him with an intense look when they’re sat close enough.

“You weren’t safe for so long. How could I have missed it?” He grits out, maddened and Steve really should have seen this coming.

“No one knew.” He says simply. They’re quiet for a long while and Steve lets his head drop onto Bucky’s shoulder.

“It’s really done?” Bucky says quiet enough that Steve nearly doesn’t catch it. He hums in assent, deciding against words, letting the quiet be a bubble around them.

“Steve?” Bucky prompts him to lift his head, eyebrows raised in question.

“Just wanted to say thanks, you didn’t give up on me, probably should’ve but... you didn’t.” Bucky smiles like he’s this lucky guy to have Steve, like he’s not an idiot, like he’s not the most precious thing Steve has and will ever be lucky enough to have.

Steve ever so gently tilts his head up and catches Bucky’s lips with his. It’s the most chaste, sweet, brushed thing but it’s electric. Bucky copies the action, tentatively at first because Steve hasn’t been allowing this but he grows more confident when Steve doesn’t move away. It’s the safest they’ve both felt in months and there’s no rush. The sweet relief that comes with knowing they have _time_. No one is hunting them down. They stop to catch their breath after what could have been hours really, foreheads gently pressed together and Steve has his hand clutched into Bucky’s shirt.

“Is this okay?” He whispers and Steve laughs a little disbelievingly. He nods and kisses him soundly again and again until Bucky’s laughing too, nodding.

“Good. That’s... thank God,” He huffs a laugh and cups Steve’s jaw gently, kissing him sweetly again.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

19th August

“How could you not tell me?” Steve rages as he storms up the stairs to his apartment and Bucky hurries to catch up to him.

“It’s my job! Do you tell me every time some kid gives you a bad attitude?” Bucky moans and Steve whips around on the landing, keys in hand, pointing at Bucky.

“That is **not** the same thing, don’t even try and compare the two.” He whirls back around, a bit out of breath from the stairs but angry enough to keep himself going. He opens the door and stomps in, at least not slamming it in Bucky’s face which tells him he’s not fucked up completely.

“Hey, it really isn’t a big deal, it was a total routine fire, nothing out of the ordinary, everyone’s fine.” He tries to placate his fuming boyfriend who is pacing the living room like a caged animal.

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?” Bucky finally yells, losing his patience.

“The _point_ ,” Steve begins furiously, rounding on Bucky again.

“Is that I was the last to know, what if something had happened and I wasn’t there, we agreed – fires deserve a text, it takes two seconds or you get the receptionist to do it. And you told me that he would do it anyway every time there was a fire which means either you were lying about that or you _specifically_ told him not to!” Steve’s tirade finds a brief break and Bucky jumps in quickly before the second wind hits.

“I wasn’t lying I just didn’t want you to worry when I knew it wasn’t a –”

“Didn’t want to worry me?” Steve’s voice climbs an octave and Bucky rakes a hand through his hair with a groan.

“Steve, you’re really being kind of fucking ridiculous,” He ground out, frustration peaking.

“What?” Steve says incredulously.

“Quit acting crazy!” He snaps and Steve physically recoils. Bucky’s not sure how he crossed the line but apparently he did because that look didn’t appear on Steve’s face for just anything.

“Steve, I don’t get it, I –”

“Crazy.” Steve interrupts, quieter but by no means less enraged.

“I’ve seen your body flat-lining, _more than once_ , cut open on a slab whilst I could do _nothing_ and it’s crazy for me to be worried when I don’t know when you’re throwing yourself into burning buildings. _I’m_ the crazy one?” Steve shakes his head and stalks off to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. A heavy silence is left in his wake and Bucky thinks over everything he’s said.

“Fuck.”

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

27th September

“Honey, I’m home.” Bucky croaks as he closes the door to their apartment and stumbles a little, catching himself on their coat rack by the door.

Steve rushes over to him, coaxing Bucky into letting him take some of his weight as they walked to the kitchen. He sat Bucky down carefully and kneels in front of him, taking his face in both hands with a calm, patient smile.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Lungs, hands, ankle,” He chokes and it morphs into a coughing fit. Steve winces for him a little but nods and springs into action.

Bucky switches off as Steve cleans him up. He answers questions about where exactly his ankle hurts and how much pressure he can put on it but lets himself sign out as Steve straps it up. When Steve reaches his hands he looks upset at how much his palms and knuckles are bleeding.

“What happened?” He asks gently, knowing better than to push for details until Bucky’s properly calmed down.

Times like these he feels Bucky edging out of the shock as carefully as he can. Big fires with complications tend to shake him up – he still has trouble not looking for bombs where there were none. Plus, he was even more fiercely protective of his team, throwing himself in harm’s way when it wasn’t really necessary. He was doing better though, getting back to his old self. Still, being in a burning building and having the floor give out from under you was stressful enough to merit some adjustment time into acting like himself again.

“Fell.” He croaks and Steve kisses his fingertips quickly before starting to patch them up.

 A bandage and a couple of band aids later and Steve has finished. He then gets a cloth and start to wipe the grime and dried blood from stray scratches away from Bucky’s face. He combs his fingers through his hair and his eyes fall shut and he lets out a little moan that makes Steve press his lips to Bucky’s scalp.

“How’d it go?”

“Got ‘em out,” Bucky even manages a weak smile and Steve’s heart could burst with affection for him in this moment.

He presses a soft and passionate kiss to the other man’s lips. Bucky is too tired to really move but he sighs into it, his lips reciprocating as far as they can. Steve does the work for him, pouring all of his love and worry and relief and pride into the kiss, letting it fill Bucky up. As predicted, he feels Bucky relax into the chair, letting his muscles release.

When they pull away Bucky immediately drops his head forward onto Steve’s shoulder and Steve smiles fondly pressing another kiss into his hair.

“I love you.” He says into Bucky’s matted hair.

“I love you.” Bucky mumbles into his shoulder.

“Bath and bed.” Steve says and Bucky hums in happiness at that plan.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

7th November

“Perfect. Just perfect. I always knew you two were destined for each other!” Mrs Barnes gushed, clutching both of their hands and Steve turned scarlet.

“Ma!”

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

8th November

“Have you discussed when you might tie the knot?” Mrs Barnes cooed happily and Steve spluttered.

“Jesus, Ma!”

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

22nd December

“Sam, hurry up or we’ll start without you!” Natasha yelled from the sofa where she was squashed with Bucky, Carol and Peggy. Steve was sat on the floor between Bucky’s legs amusing himself by tickling Bucky’s feet. Clint was sat in front of Natasha on the floor, annoying her by trying to steal her blanket.

“That’s a dangerous game, Rogers,” Bucky warned seriously and Steve cackled.

“I’m coming! You losers will thank me when we have enough popcorn to last the winter.” Sam calls from the kitchen before sprinting back into the room with four bowls of precariously balanced and filled popcorn.

“You don’t think you might have overdone it, pal?” Clint asks but he looks delighted at the bowl that’s plopped on his lap. Steve wrinkles his nose and Bucky snorts as he takes his bowl.

“Christmas movies need snacks.” Sam says.

“Did you get the caramel stuff I like?” Peggy asks with a grin and Sam rolls his eyes, handing her a bowl.

“What, you think I’m some kind of rookie? I’ve known you for years, Peg, have some faith.”

“Mine.” Natasha makes grabby hands for a bowl and Sam drops it in her lap. Then he somehow squeezes himself between Carol and Bucky and everyone on the sofa groans in protest.

“Movie maestro, go!” Sam says with a chuckle and Bucky nudges Steve with his foot.

“Oh, right, yeah. Okay, it’s between The Holiday and Love Actually.” He says turning to the rest of them.

“I believe I signed up for a Christmas movie not a romcom.” Natasha says pointedly but then points to ‘The Holiday’ and quickly takes a mouthful of popcorn.

“That’s one for The Holiday!” Steve says happily.

“Can’t we watch both?” Clint whines and Natasha kicks him with a laugh and he tugs more blanket into his lap in retaliation.

“No, Sam will cry too much.” Bucky snarks, earning him an elbow from Sam but a hearty laugh from Steve so overall it was worth it. Plus, Carol laughs loudly enough to prove his theory correct.

“Hands up for The Holiday,” Steve says, deciding to speed up their decision. Natasha, Steve, Peggy and Bucky raise their hands.

“Hey, no fair, Bucky’s only voting the same as Steve so he gets sex.” Clint argues.

“You’re damn right.” Bucky winks down at Steve who blushes but grins.

“This is democracy, Barton, suck it up!” Peggy chuckles and chomps on some popcorn.

“Fine, put it on.” Sam grumbles and Carol laughs again and kisses his cheek, stealing some of Peggy’s popcorn.

Just then there’s a knock at the door.

“Ah, come on, seriously!” Clint whines and Steve laughs, jumping to his feet.

“I’ll get it.” He drops a quick kiss on Bucky’s lips and leaves the room to various cat calls and whistles and Bucky telling them all to shut the hell up. Opening the door he sees Howard fidgeting a little on his doorstep.

“Howard!”

“Hey Steve, I’m really sorry to bother you in the holidays,”

“You’re not bothering anybody.” Steve assures as he gives him a once over. Howard looks rough. Steve thinks of how often he’s had to patch Bucky up, how many times he’s had to calm him down after nightmares about fires and imagines Howard trying to deal with that on his own.

“Peggy here? I just, I’d really love to talk to her, it’ll just take a second.” He asks apologetically but Steve’s already nodding.

“I’ll just see if she’ll come out.” Steve says but before he can even turn around Peggy is pushing past him, hands on her hips.

“Hello Howard.” She says and Steve does not envy Howard at this moment.

“I’ll give you two some privacy.” He mutters as he shuts his apartment door quietly.

When he returns to the living room everyone is chatting and apparently Clint had used this break to run to the bathroom before the film. He drops in front of Bucky again who raises an eyebrow in question and Steve mouths ‘Howard’. Bucky’s face falls in sympathy and he interlocks their fingers.

Just as everyone is getting restless and Steve considers going to check if they’re alright, Peggy walks back in with Howard in tow, their hands intertwined. They both looked flushed and happy and Steve grins at Peggy, she beams back at him.

“If it’s alright with everyone, Howard’s going to join us for the film.” She says happily and everyone makes noises of assent, Bucky even abandons his seat on the sofa so they can sit together. Steve gives him a quick kiss for that.

When at last they’re all settled Steve raises the remote control to signal he requires silence.

“Are we all ready for two hours of glorious Jude Law?” He asks.

“So _that’s_ why you love this movie,” Bucky chides but he’s smirking easily and Steve grins at him.

“I can do a British accent you know,” Bucky jokes but Steve turns red.

“You can?” Steve asks. This is new information. New, **important** information.

“Yes, of course I can. You think I’m just a pretty face?” Bucky says in a perfect Jude Law worthy British accent and Steve gapes at him.

“Oh my God.”

“Save it for the bedroom!” Clint snickers and everyone groans.

Steve plays the movie.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

25th January

“It’s just a promotion,” Steve laughs and Bucky lifts him up and whirls him around again, kissing him which Steve doesn’t object to.

“No, it’s someone else catching wise to how great you are!” He grins and tugs Steve closer by his hand, waltzing them around the kitchen.

“So, so you think I should take it, the new job, I mean?” Steve asks watching Bucky carefully but his serene smile doesn’t slip an inch.

“Steve, it’s a college professor job, that’s amazing! Of course you should take it, only if _you_ want to though.” He tacks on, looking down at Steve trying to decipher his expression.

“No, I do, I do, just, it’s a lot more hours. A lot of training. My pay goes down again first and I don’t know, I won’t have much time for other stuff, my art and everything,” He rambles.

“It’s okay to be nervous. You know we can work around all of those things. And, I actually have a surprise for you.” Bucky smiles enigmatically and Steve frowns in question.

“What surprise?”

“Steve, if you’re going to be a college professor, you need to be smarter than this. Surprise means you don’t know what it is yet,” Bucky teased and Steve smacked him on the arm making him laugh.

“The spare room.” He said dramatically and swept out of the room, making Steve laugh as he followed.

“So I’m allowed in now?”

“You’re not making this very exciting, Steve!” Bucky reprimands with a pout and Steve chuckles.

“Sorry, sorry, shall I close my eyes?”

“Yes!” Bucky grins and Steve shakes his head with a laugh but obliges. He hears the door open and Bucky leads him in carefully.

“Right, open them.” His voice is a bit nervous now. Steve opens his eyes and gasps. The little spare room Bucky had claimed and banned Steve from was completely transformed.

The walls were covered in Steve’s favourite artwork. The desk was new and had on it an assortment of new sketchpads and sketching pencils. The dresser had paints and watercolours and paper of all different types perfect for different types of art. There was a new spinny chair and some photos lined up on the edge of the desk, one of Steve’s Mother, one of their friends and one of him and Bucky.

“You going to say anything, or...?” Bucky laughs anxiously, his hand rubbing the back of his neck and Steve lets out an elated laugh and launches himself at his boyfriend.

“You sneaky, wonderful perfect loser, I love it, this is seriously incredible!” He punctuates his words with mad kisses all over Bucky’s face, making him laugh in happy relief.

“Oh, good!”

“I love you, thank you so much!”

“I love you, too. Now draw me something.” He winks and kisses Steve sweetly.

“Happily!” Steve rushes to his desk and gets testing out his new tools.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

6th April

“Did you save me the last kitkat?”

“Yeah, you’re working hard.” Bucky says absently from where he’s filling out some forms on the sofa with a film on.

“Never leave me.” Steve says and Bucky snorts in amusement.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

18th June

Bucky’s sweating. Not just sweating he’s dropped his wallet four times, knocked over three glasses of drink, ate an entire baguette in what must be a world record speed, his leg is bouncing still even though Steve already brought it up.

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve asks, mildly disturbed after apologising to the waitor who Bucky accidentally tripped over somehow with his sharp fidgety movements.

“What? Shit!” He scrambles to right the candle he knocked over but the tablecloth has already caught fire. He gets his napkin to try and stamp it out but the napkin just catches fire. Luckily, the fabric of the tablecloth doesn’t seem to be very flammable so it isn’t spreading quickly but it’s still slightly alarming and it isn’t being extinguished.

“Buck, Jesus!” Steve leans back, alarmed when Bucky starts flapping the flaming napkin around like a mad man. They’re starting to draw attention but no one is going for help or a fire extinguisher yet.

“Fuck, oh God, Steve, I was trying to say something, would you, shit, ah!” He nearly whips himself in the face with his makeshift flare.

“You’re a fire fighter!” Steve yells incredulously as Bucky puts the napkin in the centre of the table and starts folding over the tablecloth and smacking it to try and put out the fire.

“Marry me, alright! Jesus, marry me, be my husband, I love you, always will, ouch, fuck, stay with me forever!” Bucky blurts out in between burning his fingers and at that moment the waitor hurries back over and douses them and their entire mangled table in extinguisher foam.

“We’re going to have to ask you to leave.” The waitor says stiltedly – the entire restaurant is watching them now.

“Wait.” Bucky says, not looking away from Steve who is staring at him, looking like he decided to take a spontaneous bubble bath and is utterly stunned about it.

“Sir –”

“Shut up!” Bucky snaps, his eyes desperate as he looks at Steve, wondering how in the hell his proposal had gone that wrong.

But then something amazing happens. Steve smiles, god damn beams at him. And tears are streaming down his face and his laugh turns into a choked sob that racks his body. He reaches out and Bucky is there in an instant and they don’t even need to say anything, they’re kissing so fiercely and passionately that it becomes difficult with how full their smiles are. The entire restaurant applauds them. They finally stop kissing, staying close together and their faces hurting from smiling so hard.

“What took you so long?” Steve says shakily, bursting with happiness.

“Well, the tablecloth took longer to put out than I first anticipated,”

“Oh, shut up.” Steve surged their lips together again.

It was perfect.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was it! it's finished! i started this in sixth form and now i'm nearly in my 2nd year of uni! i'm sorry the plot fell away from me bc i was too preoccupied to plan nicely but i hope it's still been a nice read. i did fall in love with these characters. let me know what you think and when you'd like me to post my new ((much better and nicely planned and half written)) fic. i hope you have a lovely day, week and more. thank you for reading and supporting. see you in the next one. xxx

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this whole chapter only leads to a tiny glimpse of reunion but I wanted full background for them so there you go. This is my first Steve/Bucky fic and I will admit I am not American so I apologise if anything is out of place or incorrect I'm going off of general knowledge for a lot of it.   
> Any suggestions or comments would be great!


End file.
